Beyond the Scars
by Aurora Vampiris
Summary: Post HBP. Harry Potter abandons his friends and flees in a desperate attempt to follow a training regime Dumbledore asked him to follow, prior to his death. But as Harry goes through the motions, he finds that the true enemy is not Voldemort, but himself.
1. Ghosts of the Past

_A/N: I own nothing. The purpose of this fic is pure pleasure for the writer, and hopefully, for the readers._

* * *

**_Ghosts of the Past_**

Hermione Granger sat on a small chair, staring at the roaring fire. It reminded her irresistibly of a certain dark-haired, green-eyed someone. Someone she had once counted as a friend. She cradled her head in her arms as she strove not to think of that terrible, tragic day – the day they had that horrible "conversation", hours after Dumbledore's death – the day everything had gone so awry. No, she must not think of it. She had to go the Headquarters at eight. She looked at the clock. Seven thirty.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock…_

She couldn't bear it.

She went up to the window and stretched. She stuck her head out. The cold breeze hit her face, and she revelled at the sight of a calm, cool morning in New York City. Yes, she thought, the States was an ideal place for her parents – far away from the horrors of war, far away from fighting _him_.

She went back to the chair. She looked at the clock again. Seven thirty-five. She sighed. This was going to be a long wait. And just as she strove to avoid the memory, it returned to the forefront of her mind.

* * *

_Harry had entered the Gryffindor Dormitory. His face was oddly set. Hermione looked at him. Ron, who was fastening a lock on his trunk, looked up as well. "Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively._

"_I broke up with Ginny," Harry muttered. _

_Ron spluttered. "But, why?"_

_Harry gave Ron a cold, appraising gaze, a look Hermione had never before seen on Harry's face before. It did not bode well. "She wasn't my type," Harry said quietly._

_Lavender, Katie and Romilda were in the room. They both looked up, apparently drinking in every word of the uncomfortable conversation._

"_What do you mean?" Hermione asked quickly._

_Harry laughed – a high, harsh laughter, which did not suit him._

"_She was looking at Dean, half the time at the funeral. I should have guessed. She is… after all… a scarlet woman."_

_Hermione looked at Ron. His ears were steadily growing redder. "Harry…" she pleaded._

_Harry laughed coldly again. "What? She is – and it's a fact. I told her stuff and nonsense about me not wanting to hurt her, but the truth's there for all to see – she's a scarlet woman… or maybe not… she's too young for a woman… a scarlet girl then."_

_Katie and Lavender were looking at Ron, who had turned a deep shade of red. "Harry," he said in a dangerously calm voice, "That's my little sister you're talking about…"_

_Harry laughed as he fastened the lock on his trunk. "What, Ron? Does the truth hurt? Because that is exactly what your innocent little sister is."_

_Ron jumped at Harry knocking him down. "DON'T YOU DARE…"_

"_Or what?"_

"_YOU…" Ron drew his hand backwards, pinning Harry to the floor with the other._

_There was a flash of red light, and Ron was hanging upside down in mid-air._

_Harry gave a sneer worthy of Malfoy. "So… tell me Ron… wasn't it true after all? Isn't it true you're my best mate just because of my fame and money, you jealous little freak?"_

_All the girls in the room gasped._

* * *

Hermione shook her head. Something had gone wrong that day, dead wrong. No one had been thinking clearly that day. "Why, Harry?" she whispered into the night. She looked up at the clock. Five to eight. She opened the door quietly, locked it behind her, turned on the spot and disappeared.

* * *

Halfway across the globe, Ronald Bilius Weasley sat brooding on a chair in Grimmauld Place, London. A fire was blazing in the ancient hearth. "Why, Harry?" he echoed. He shook his head to clear the thoughts that plagued his brain.

* * *

_Ron gasped as he tried to untangle the robes that had wrapped around him, as he hung in mid-air._

"_LET ME DOWN!" he shouted angrily._

"_Why, Ron?" Harry taunted, "So you can kiss your long-molared, bushy-haired, Little-Miss-Know-it-all girlfriend?"_

_There was a noise as if a whip had just cracked on a horse's back, and Ron crumpled in a heap to the ground. He looked up quickly. Harry was clutching his cheek. Hermione stood in front of him, eyes blazing. Harry staggered backwards and tripped against someone. Harry turned around to find himself face to face with Ginny Weasley. Harry's eyes widened as he saw Ginny standing there, white-faced, her hands shaking in fury. Harry regained his composure, picked up Ron's wand, which had been lying on the floor, and thrust it at Ginny. "At least that's brand new in your family," he said in a horrible, sarcastic voice. His next words stayed etched in Ron's memory to this day. _

"_Everything else is second hand, isn't it? Even you," Harry said eyeing Ginny up and down in evident contempt. Ginny reared back and punched him in the face. Ron gaped. Harry staggered backwards, his face contorted in cold fury. He turned on his heels, picked up his trunk, and stormed away towards the Hogwarts carriages, which were to cart them off to the Hogwarts Express._

* * *

Harry did not speak to them on the Express. Neither did he even look at the Weasleys as he trudged across the platform to meet his podgy uncle.

Ron shook his head wearily. He buried his face in his hands. Hermione was right. Harry… something had gone wrong that day. But all that had been a year ago.

Suddenly there was a soft tap on the door. Ron went to the door, his wand held aloft. "Hermione?" he whispered.

"Yes."

"What's my favourite colour?"

"Maroon."

Ron chuckled. "Right in one 'Mione." He unlocked the door.

Hermione stepped into the room and hugged Ron tightly. "It's been too long, Ron," she whispered. They tiptoed across the room where Sirius' old mother resided in a damned portrait.

"Has the meeting started?" Hermione asked Ron, after they crossed the room.

"No," Ron said as he tapped on a door thrice, "We were waiting for you."

"Enter," a stern voice said from the other side of the door.

Ron and Hermione entered the room, and the door snapped shut behind them.

* * *

Ginny sat on her bed in her dark, damp room in Grimmauld Place, her face buried in her hands, her body rocking forward and backwards in rhythm with her sobs. She did not know why she had lost control so suddenly. This happened every time she looked at the letter she had received fifteen months ago. She remembered how Hedwig had swooped through the Entrance Hall, dropping this letter right into her pumpkin juice, just five minutes after she had patched up with Dean._Dearest Ginny, _

_I have no one else to call my own now, except you. I'm sorry for whatever I said. I did what Dumbledore told me to. He left me several things. I'm sorry. I did what I had to. I'll let you know that whatever I said that day was false. I didn't mean any of it. I'm sorry. I love you… you and no one else. I'm sorry._

_I'll wait for you. Will you wait for me?_

_Love,_

_Harry._

_PS Take care of Hedwig for me._

Ginny looked up at the cage. Hedwig had gone hunting. She buried her face in her hands again. Outside the confines of her room, she had six brothers. She couldn't afford to show a weakness to any of them. But inside, it was a different matter. Inside these walls in Grimmauld Place, she was a little girl again; outside, she was hard, defiant and calm Ginny Weasley.

_"Wait for me"…_

She was overcome by guilt. She hadn't waited for him. Somehow, she could not swallow her pride; she could not forget herself. She had not shown the letter to anyone else, not even Hermione. She did not know why she hadn't shown it to them – all she knew at the moment was her pride – her selfish pride. She loved Harry… but somehow, she could not forgive him for leaving her behind. She shook her head. She was feeling guilty again. She had gone out with Dean, throughout her sixth year. She had betrayed Harry.

The door to her room creaked open. Ginny quickly wiped her tears. Her mother stepped into the dark room. "Ginny," she whispered, "the meeting's about to start."

Ginny got up, straightened her dress and looked at her mother. "Let's go."

* * *

A few thousand miles to the south, Harry Potter stood on top of a small mound in the midst of a dark forest. The Transylvanians called it the Valley of Blood. It was a cursed place. Harry chuckled. "Maybe that's why I'm here," he said to himself.

He frowned. He flicked his wand. A serpentine throne appeared from thin air on top of the hill. Harry sat wearily on the throne and ran his hand across the cold metal, softly tracing the contours of the majestic throne, he had conjured. The throne was solid silver, with serpents carved at regular intervals along the armrests. The back of the throne resembled a giant serpent, spreading its hood over the dark-haired boy who was seated upon it, brooding over the past year.

For him, the year had been the most terrible of all the years of his life.

_Terrible and great. _

_Terrible and crucial. _

_Terrible and forbidden. _

The paths he had trod, the people he had tortured, the creatures he had coaxed, the men and beasts he had killed… no he must not think of them. Their ghosts always returned to haunt him. Sometimes he wondered how close he was to being another Voldemort.

And throughout his suffering, throughout this terrible year, it had been the thought of a certain red-haired girl that had kept him alive. His love for the girl he had dated only for half a year was what had pulled him through. He cast his mind back to the beginning of this terrible year.

* * *

_Harry trudged up to McGonagall's office wearily. That was the second time that day she had summoned him to her office. If she wanted him to reveal Dumbledore's confidential secrets about Voldemort, there was no chance he'd tell her. He opened the door to the Head's Office. He chanced a glance at Dumbledore's portrait, but it was still asleep. He sighed and proceeded to McGonagall who was studying an envelope on her table. _

_She looked up at him. "Dumbledore's portrait reminded me to hand this over to you." She looked up at Dumbledore's portrait, annoyed. "He's gone to sleep again I see. He wouldn't tell me what it was about. Apparently, only you can open this envelope. And he insisted you open it at once."_

_Harry went wearily up to the table and tore the envelope open. He read it quickly. _

_Harry,_

_Read this letter quickly, but carefully. If you are reading this letter it means I have failed in my duty to protect you. Forgive me for this lapse._

_The letter will self-destruct as soon as you finish reading. I have left you my Pensieve and a few memories. I suggest you view the first memory as soon as possible. If convenient, I suggest you view it in the Headmistress' Room now._

_Yours truly,_

_Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore._

_Harry looked at the cabinet in the corner. McGonagall followed his gaze. The letter in Harry's hand burnt to ashes. She gazed at the cabinet and the Pensieve within. Harry looked at her uncertainly. She nodded. "He left me a letter as well. He asked me to allow you to look into the Pensieve for some reason. You may do so."_

_Harry blinked. McGonagall took a few files from her desk and started surveying them. Harry forced his gaze towards the Pensieve. He edged towards the cabinet. He saw several memories. He picked up the memory marked "__**1**__" and emptied the silver substance into the Pensieve. He took a deep breath and plunged his face into the Pensieve._

* * *

Things had gone downhill after that. _"I have a journey for you to make…"_ Dumbledore had said. Suddenly bits and pieces from Dumbledore's memories swam to the front of his mind. He shrank away from them, but they plagued him.

"_Suspend your friendship and your relations Harry…" _

"_They cannot help you Harry"… _

"_Give up your friendship at once, no matter how painful it may seem"… _

"_Harry I need you to look at this memory carefully"…_

"_Harry, concentrate on this place and apparate there for the first stage of your training"…_

And Harry had followed Dumbledore's instructions. He had consorted with the best and the worst in the magical world. He had learnt several things – terrible and great. Terrible and forbidden. He shuddered as the thought of his journeys drove down upon him. They always returned at night.

_His demons. _

_His ghosts. _

_His sins._

He sat up straight on the throne on the hillock. He brandished his wand. A mirror appeared in front of him. He looked into it and whispered, "Am I so very changed, Dumbledore?"

There was a flash of lightning across the sky. A gaunt, drawn and terrible face looked back at him from the mirror. He had suffered and the suffering had taken its due. No one would now recognise him as the Harry who had disappeared a year ago without a trace, no one. Not even Ron and Hermione. Not even Ginny.

"Why, Dumbledore? Why me?" he rasped into the dreary darkness of the Valley of Blood. No one answered.


	2. Muddied Memories

_A/N: I tire of saying this; but nevertheless, I own nothing. And the italicised lines refer to thoughts or memories of a certain character._

* * *

_**Muddied Memories **_

The sky was alight with flashes of lightning. Flash upon flash upon flash of fork-tongued light. Harry Potter still sat on the throne, waiting. He scanned the forest that sprawled beneath his hillock. Mile upon mile of darkness. Darkness that was slowly rearing its head within him. But ultimately, that was the path he had to tread.

_Darkness._

Harry sat immersed in thought. He could easily sift through his thoughts now, after finally perfecting Occlumency. He shuddered as he thought of the number of times he had come close to the Darkness. The number of times he had been tempted by it. But Dumbledore was right. Love kept him on the right path.

_Love. Ginny._

These two words were somehow inextricably linked in his mind. He smiled at the thought of the red-haired girl of his fantasies... the red hair that streamed behind her as she flew to the hoops with the quaffle, the smile that always played on her luscious lips - a smile that was seductive and mischievous, loving and caring.

Maybe Dumbledore was right. Maybe the distance that he kept from his friends was for the best. After all, his loved ones did not exactly live long and happy lives. He laughed harshly at his own thoughts. He ticked them off in his own mind. _Lily, James, Sirius… and Dumbledore._

He forced his rebelling mind away from those thoughts to focus on a more recent one.

* * *

Wormtail shivered as the Dark Lord entered the dubious chamber. His small, watery eyes contracted in fear as he saw his master's eyes narrowing. That was always a danger sign.

Voldemort's eyes swept over his assembled Death Eaters. Each Death Eater trembled involuntarily, as they felt the whispers of his wrath. They felt the power radiating off his snake-like body. Wave upon wave of magical fury crashed over them. Worse… the waves were directed straight at them.

"So…" Voldemort whispered menacingly, "Nott. Come hither."

Nott scampered over to Voldemort, and fell at his feet, half-sobbing.

"Tell me… where did Nagini go?"

"Master, master… please…"

"Tell me now", Voldemort hissed.

A shiver passed through all of the Death Eaters. They had never seen their Master so angry before. The Dark Lord seemed to be having difficulty talking due to rage. Rage so tangible you could feel it around him.

Nott began to shiver uncontrollably. "My lord", he whimpered, "Lord… She disappeared before my very eyes."

Lord Voldemort hissed menacingly again. "But large snakes do not disappear into thin air, Nott."

Nott seemed to lose his nerve. "Master… I don't know. I searched the entire forest, Master. I couldn't find a trace of her. She just…" Nott said as he shivered uncontrollably again, "disappeared."

Voldemort let out an inarticulate sound as he flicked his wand. Nott's screams seemed to blast through their eardrums, as he was tortured.

Finally after twenty minutes, Nott lay slumped on the floor – completely unconscious. Lord Voldemort lowered his wand and looked at the lone Death Eater standing before him. All the others had been dispersed.

Voldemort flicked his wand again. A thin silvery thread seemed to hang onto his wand tip from his forehead. He beckoned to the Death Eater to come closer, and transferred the memory to the Death Eater's forehead. The Death Eater's eyes widened for a moment, but relaxed as the memory was transferred to his own mind.

"Severus," he began, "It is my wish that you visit the places that I have mentioned in that thought. There are certain… _artefacts_ that I wish for you check upon." The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked upon his favourite Death Eater. "However, I expressedly forbid you from _touching_ those artefacts. Do you follow, my snake?"

Severus looked at his master, his face devoid of any emotion, and bowed. "Of course Master," he said, in an extremely silky voice.

Voldemort sat on the Black Throne at the centre of the chamber. "I shall expect you here in four days, Severus. See that you do not make any mistakes."

Severus bowed again, and exited the chamber.

He did not notice the small greyish white rat that scampered out of sight into the murky darkness of the Castle they resided in.

The grey rat scampered into an old cupboard located at the corner of the room. Human features began to sprout across its furry body, as it morphed into an unusually little man with watery eyes. Peter Pettigrew slumped against the wall of the cupboard breathing heavily as if he had run a mile. He thanked his stars that they had not suspected him. Potter had been right – no one in his or her right mind would suspect him of betrayal, just like they hadn't nearly two decades ago. He was safe for the moment. But rest often brought despair along with it as a companion. Memories of his second betrayal came rushing to the forefront of his mind, even as he sought to avoid it.

* * *

_Peter Pettigrew was frustrated. He had been assigned as Dolohov's second-in-command at a Death Eater Training Camp in Bulgaria. He cursed his luck. Dolohov treated him like a pile of dragon dung. It was at times like these that he yearned for the joy of youth… the days when he had a bunch of friends, unlike the idiots here at the Camp._

_Peter's mind immediately ground to a thorough standstill, as waves of guilt assaulted his mind. He did not need a reminder of his guilt. Especially not now. He had made his decision two decades ago. It was over now. There was no going back._

_There was a rustling noise nearby. Peter immediately unsheathed his wand, feeling a foreign presence nearby. He now cursed himself for trying to escape Dolohov's taunts by taking a stroll away from the safety of the Camp in the dead of night. It could be anything, anyone – it might be something as innocent as a rabbit, or it could be an Auror from the Bulgarian Ministry. He was now on his own. There were no Death Eaters anywhere close by... he could vouch for that. _

_The rustle sounded again, accompanied by the pounding of paws. Peter's breath hitched. For one wild, fleeting moment, he thought it was Padfoot… but it couldn't be… Sirius Black had died nearly three years ago. The pounding stopped abruptly. Peter was tempted to think the danger had passed. But he knew better. For all he knew the animal was crouching for a spring. He backed against the shadow of an oak. His eyes darted around, rolling furiously in their sockets as they sought out this unexpected foe. He chanced a glance at the moon. His blood froze. It was the night of a full moon._

_Then all at once, all hell was let loose._

_The moonlit shadowy silhouette of the tree seemed to solidify. And then, without warning, something leapt out at him from the shadow. The shadow seemed to protrude outwards, pinning him against the tree trunk. A sickening crunch later, Peter realised he was pinned to the tree not physically but magically. He strained against the magical bonds holding him, but in vain. He tried both apparition and transformation, but he couldn't do either. The spell holding him to the tree trunk was powerful… tremendously powerful. _

_And then he saw who had assaulted him. The moon revealed the face of his attacker in all its gaunt, pale glory. He stared into the face of Harry James Potter, the son of the friend he had betrayed. His blood ran cold._

_Harry Potter looked like an abomination from hell. Magical fury rolled off him in waves. Despite his predicament, Wormtail could not help but wonder when the boy had turned so powerful. _

_And the same boy was now looking at him with a coldness he had seen on his master's face countless times. He remembered the rumours that had circulated in the camp a month after Dumbledore's death… when Harry Potter had disappeared. They said the boy had killed himself. The Ministry tried to cover it up, hinting ever so often that the boy was working for them on a "covert mission". The Order, he had it from reliable sources, were clueless. Some said he had gone to Sirius Black, former convict turned innocent victim, for training. Others claimed Dumbledore was alive, and that Harry Potter had gone for training to him. Yet others claimed Potter had fled, fearful of the Dark Lord, and was now hiding in some distant, remote island. There had been as many "Harry Potter sightings" as those of his master in the Daily Prophet._

_And now, at this inopportune moment, he was going to discover the truth. _

_But it was Harry Potter, as he had never seen the boy before. _

_The boy was now a man. _

_And the man's face was pale and drawn. Yet his body radiated tremendous magical power; the very air around him throbbed with the music of his magic. Peter had always had this uncanny ability to detect magical auras. It had been one of the reasons he had been drawn towards James. The abundance of magical power within him. And Sirius. Yet even their magical auras paled in comparison to that of the man standing before him._

_And that man was Harry Potter._

_And Harry Potter's face was contorted with suppressed fury. _

_Peter struggled against his invisible bonds, but he seemed to be glued to the tree. There was no escape. He would suffer at Potter's hands. And die. Potter's wand was levelled at him. Peter waited, his heart beating a drum roll against his ribs, for the onrush of the green light, which would end his cursed life. _

_But the green light never came._

_Instead, he heard a voice, which froze his blood. _

"_I give you a choice, Peter."_

_Peter tried to say something, but all that came out was a whimper._

_He saw Potter's lips twist in disdain, as the wand moved upwards until it was level with Peter's eyes. The lips curved into a cruel smile._

"_Though it would give me endless pleasure to murder you Peter", Potter said as Peter began to shiver violently, "I give you a choice – an Unbreakable Vow, or death."_

_Peter shivered even more violently. _

_Potter clutched Peter's throat with one hand, still pointing his wand at Peter's eyes with the other._

"_Choose now, ratbrain… OR DIE!" Potter growled into the gathering darkness._

_Peter's mouth responded at last to the panicked signals his brain was transmitting. It did not take a genius to figure out what Potter was saying. "The v-vow… I ch-choose the v-vow," he stuttered pitifully._

_The wand was lowered. Potter's eyes though were still blazing._

_Potter stretched out his right hand. Something seemed to snap, and the magical bond holding Peter's right hand to the tree seemed to relax. Potter grasped Peter's right arm and asked, "Do you swear to lay the blue stone I shall give you in Nagini's path, tomorrow night?"_

_A cold sweat broke out over Peter's forehead. Potter was asking him to infiltrate Nagini's hideout. _

_Only a Death Eater could get into it. He wondered for the umpteenth time, if he should have taken this stroll so far away from his camp._

_But Peter had no choice._

"_I do."_

"_Do you swear not to reveal any information about me, which includes this awful conversation, to Lord Voldemort, also known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, or to anyone that follows him, and the Ministry?"_

"_I do"_

_Potter waved the wand in his left hand. "I shall bind this Vow myself."_

_The red strips of fire that had coiled around Peter's arm as he agreed to each vow, now united and for a brief instant, lit up the surrounding forest. Then the red glow faded, and Peter was left alone in the darkness. Peter slumped to the ground, exhausted and completely drained._

_He lifted his eyes wearily. Potter had disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared before Peter. And then the enormity of what had happened sank into Peter's brain. _

_He had to infiltrate Nagini's hideout and place the blue stone lying at his feet in the snake's path. He had to go on a suicide mission._

_He should never have accepted Potter's offer._

_Either way he was going to die._

* * *

But Peter had not died. He had completed the mission admirably well. But he knew that it should have been him rather than Nott that should have succumbed to the Dark Lord's torture. And then, just as unexpectedly, Wormtail began to sob.

* * *

Harry Potter still sat on the majestic throne on top of the hill in the midst of a cursed valley. His green eyes seemed to roam over the dark gloom, not missing a single feature. Another memory of the past – one which had occurred barely two days prior to this night - seemed to invade the narrow confines of his mind.

* * *

_The Valley of Blood lay covered with the densest of vegetation. Yet tonight, there was an incessant rustling that could be heard only by the sharpest mortal ears, throughout the Valley. A pale, tall man was standing beside a hooded man of average build. The pale man had a startlingly pallid complexion. He held up a single finger. The creatures scuttling in the darkness behind him seemed to tense at his signal. He turned to the hooded man standing next to him._

_"Are you certain the feast will arrive? We've been waiting for hours. My brothers," the tall man said in his rasping tone, "are growing impatient."_

_"Peace, Ivan," the hooded man said, "The snake will come."_

_"Is it really as huge as you described it to be? If it is, it will make a splendid feast for us," Ivan said smacking his lips with eagerness._

_The hooded figure merely nodded._

_And then, there was a flash of bluish white light. A huge snake appeared out of thin air._

_And then, Ivan gave a weird screech. The creatures around him attacked. The snake writhed and venomous spittle flew in foamy bursts from its gaping mouth, but it fought in vain. It soon succumbed to the creatures' vicious attack. And through all this the hooded figure stood unmoved, as the scenes unfolded._

_At last, Ivan glided up to the hooded figure and bowed. "I thank you Dark Prince for affording us this lavish meal."_

_The hooded figure made a disgruntled noise as it muttered, "You did me a favour too, Ivan. I couldn't have subdued that snake all by myself. And I wish you wouldn't call me that name. I have a name after all… and it's Harry Potter."_

* * *

Yes, Harry had given Wormtail a blue stone – an ancient magical transporter, he had discovered in Mexico. Mexico had been one of the places he had trained at. At times he marvelled at the fact that he had gone to the strangest of places to train – all at the behest of an eccentric, old man who was now dead.

The transporter had been charmed to transport anything it comes in contact with, to a certain location determined by the caster. And it had transported Nagini to this cursed valley, only to be devoured by the vampires residing in the valley.

Suddenly, Harry was startled by the appearance of a giant bat. He tensed for a moment at the bat's appearance, but then relaxed as the bat gently settled down near his feet. The dark green grass near the bat's clawed limbs, suddenly glowed an eerie green, as the bat transformed into a tall, pale man – a vampire.

"Ivan," Harry said, gesturing with his hand, "I trust your brethren enjoyed the feast."

"Truly," replied Ivan in his cold, smooth voice, "We enjoyed it. It has been too long since we tasted magical blood."

Harry merely nodded.

Ivan's cold, grey gaze swept over Harry Potter, but the Boy-who-Lived – now a man – seemed unruffled. Truly, the boy had been through a lot… too much for his tender age.

"You might have noticed that my brethren were not surprised by your sudden appearance," Ivan said.

Harry nodded again.

"We were tracking you for the past week. We were quite surprised by your appearance near that cave."

Harry looked up at Ivan.

"We were quite startled by the Order's appearance. We were even more startled by the appearance of the Minotaur."

Harry's eyes flashed in the semi-darkness.

"Needless to say, we never ventured into that cave. It reeked of sorrow and dark magic. However we never knew a Minotaur resided there."

Harry looked into the distance again. However, Ivan could tell he was listening.

Ivan sighed. "I know it's pointless to ask you this, but you owe me some answers. After all, I trained you."

Harry looked up at Ivan again. "You were my second tutor."

Ivan smiled. "Yes, I was quite surprised by the appearance of a skinny teenager at my doorstep, bearing a message from Dumbledore."

"As I said, you were my second tutor," Harry repeated.

"Yes…," said Ivan, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "Dumbledore gave you an iterinary, didn't he? He gave you a list of tutors. Yet what puzzled me is that you had just five memories from Dumbledore. Training from five different tutors, if you worked as hard as you did with me, would have taken you twelve, or perhaps, fifteen months. Yet here, I see you after seventeen months. I wonder what you were doing all this time…"

Harry merely narrowed his eyes and glowered at Ivan. Ivan however continued unperturbed.

"Another fact that surprises me is your magical power. When you trained with me, your magical power was above average… at best. Yet here, I witness a powerful transformation. You are not the boy I knew."

The lines on Harry's face deepened as he frowned and said in his harsh voice, "The boy you knew was dead long ago, Ivan."

Ivan continued, unabashedly, "I was even more curious about your animagus form. I believe you finally perfected your animagus form after all those failed training sessions you had with me. Again, I'm aware your animagus is some kind of a feral beast… I also know that your animagus form is capable of travelling through shadows. Aren't I right, Dark Prince?"

Harry clenched his teeth. "I thought I'd asked you not to use that name," he growled. And then he sighed. "I swear to you Ivan… I will answer all your questions when the war's over… but not now. The events you speak of are too close now to unravel."

"And I will hold you to that oath," Ivan muttered.

Harry shook his head wearily. "I guess they say truly that vampiric curiosity is hard to quench."

Ivan laughed – a high, cold laughter, which made the hair along Harry neck stand on end – and said, "They say true, Harry Potter… they say true."

Ivan suddenly spun around gazing into the dark expanse of the Valley of Blood. "Someone's near the cave," he muttered.

Harry stiffened in his throne. With a snarl, he leapt down from the silver throne and flicked his wand. The throne vanished. For a split second, as another shaft of fork-tongued lightning lashed across the inky blackness of the heavens, Ivan saw Harry's face contorted in rage.

"I suppose that is who you were waiting for, all this time," Ivan said, in a casual voice.

Harry vanished. In his place stood a fearsome beast, sitting majestically on its haunches. It raised itself on his hind legs and snarled into the darkness. And then, the beast – the animagus, Harry Potter – vanished into the forest.

Ivan merely stood there on the hillock, staring at the place where Harry Potter had been.

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat at the table in what had previously been the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. He was seated at the table with fourteen other top-ranked members of the Order of the Phoenix, waiting for its youngest members to arrive – Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley.

The door opened and Molly Weasley ushered her only daughter into the room. At the sight of Ginny's tear-streaked face, Kingsley's insides squirmed with guilt. He knew why Ginny felt sad – it was in some way linked to Harry Potter's disappearance. Even after seventeen months, he still felt guilty for what had happened.

* * *

_Kingsley Shacklebolt stood in the Ministry Atrium, waiting for Harry Potter to arrive after acquiring his apparition license. Kingsley marvelled at the fact that the Ministry could still conduct mundane things like apparition tests in these crucial times. He felt Dumbledore had been right about the Ministry. The Ministry existed merely to survive the elections and maintain a good face._

_Kingsley's thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Harry Potter. The boy had been highly non-cooperative with the Order. He had defied McGonagall's (who was now the Leader of the Order) repeated pleas to reveal his dealings with Dumbledore the night he died. While Potter conceded that what Dumbledore told him was "important", he refused to reveal anything more. The Order was frustrated with the boy._

_Moreover, the Hogwarts rumour mill, which invariably reached the ears of the Ministry, claimed that the boy had a blazing row with his friends in the middle of the Common Room. Kingsley supposed that was why the boy was unruly and moody right now. And today, Kingsley had to act as the boy's personal bodyguard._

_Harry drew up alongside Kingsley, but did not look his way. Kingsley caught hold of Harry's arm and stopped him._

_What happened next was completely unpredictable._

_Harry drew out his wand and stunned Kingsley in the middle of the Atrium. And then, Harry vanished._

_No one ever saw him again._

* * *

The Daily Prophet had a field day after that. "BOY-WHO-LIVED VANISHES. MINISTRY IN CHAOS."

Kingsley groaned as he remembered that morning. Harry had vanished right under the nose of a fully trained Ministry Auror. It was completely shameful. A quick search of Harry Potter's residence revealed that the boy had left all his worldly possessions behind. The only things he had taken with him, according to the Order, were Dumbledore's Pensieve and five memory bottles.

No one knew what those memories held. Or what had prompted Harry Potter to make such a dramatic escape. The general consensus in the Wizarding World was that the Boy-Who-Lived had fled the war. Yet, the Order knew better than to believe it.

The present meeting had been called up abruptly. Kingsley wondered why the meeting had been initiated. Suddenly the door opened and Hermione Granger entered the room, along with Ronald Weasley.

* * *

Hermione sat next to Ron on a rickety wooden chair at the table. She peered at the faces of the three top members – McGonagall, Lupin and Moody. They were all grave. A very pale-looking Bill Weasley was seated next to them. Hermione started. The last time she'd heard, Bill had been on a mission to scour a valley in Transylvania for traces of the Death Eater camps that had sprouted all over Europe. She had no idea Bill would be back so soon. Had the mission been terminated? Is that why this meeting had been called?

She chanced a glance at Ron. He looked as puzzled as she was. It was at times like these that she wondered why she chose Ron over Harry. She and Ron were playing around each other, neither of them actually popping the question. She drew her mind away from these thoughts, and heard McGonagall clear her throat.

"I start this meeting with an announcement. Hogwarts will not open this year."

Hermione was not surprised. It had been obvious all along. She had been amazed, to say the least, when Hogwarts had opened for a surprisingly uneventful seventh year. She had been the Head Girl. Yet school was not the same without Harry Potter. She had wondered at least a million times that year about where Harry had vanished to and why he had broken up with them so spectacularly in the middle of the Common Room.

Slytherin House had been non-existent that year. The school functioned under tight security. Hardly sixty students enrolled that year. Lupin had returned as DADA teacher. However, she had graduated from Hogwarts with wonderful marks in her N.E.W.T.S. Ron too had graduated, though she dared not say anything about his N.E.W.T.S. Hermione was now a full-time member of the order. Ron, on the other hand, was a rookie Auror – still in the lower echelons of the Auror Division. However he insisted on joining the Order as a part-time member, and made it a point never to miss the crucial meetings.

McGonagall continued, "You might be wondering why this meeting was commenced so abruptly. As you all know, Bill Weasley was sent on a mission to scour the Valley of Blood in Transylvania for Death Eater Camps. The mission involved Bill Weasley and thirteen other order members. The mission did not detect the presence of any Death Eater camps. Yet, we have a very interesting… astounding memory here."

McGonagall flicked her wand and summoned her Pensieve, which was previously stowed away in a cabinet in a corner. The Pensieve slid onto the table smoothly. Its insides were swirling with a silver fluid. Hermione stiffened slightly in her chair.

"This memory belongs to Bill Weasley himself. I think the memory will prove much more satisfying than a purely verbal account of what happened on the last night of this mission – nearly a week ago."

McGonagall flicked her wand again, and the memory played itself on top of the Pensieve. Hermione felt as if she was watching a television show, with the movie playing itself out on a large silver screen. She personally felt this way of viewing the memory was much more comfortable than plunging into the Pensieve to see a memory.

She began to focus on the memory.

And what she saw unnerved her.

* * *

_Bill Weasley lay crouched in a dense bush, watching a cave nearby wearily. He looked around. The other members of this mission were crouched in a similar manner. The entrance to the cave was shaped like a crude skull – one of the reasons why they had chosen to investigate the cave. However, as they had closed in upon the cave, they had heard strange sounds coming from it – sounds that seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth._

_Bill raised his forefinger. The Order members closed in upon the cave. They ventured into the open, surrounding the entrance of the cave._

_It was a move that Bill would regret later._

_A burst of smoke emerged from the mouth of the cave. The Order members started from their vigil. They drew back as the smoke and stench grew overpowering. And then the smoke cleared._

_The only female member of their mission gave an ear-splitting shriek._

_The creature that stood before them was a Minotaur – one of the ancient monsters from Greece._

_Yet, the Minotaur was nothing like the few Minotaurs Bill had glimpsed before. Something, or someone had interfered with its growth. The Minotaur stood well over ten feet – an unprecedented size for a Minotaur. And it was covered in wounds. Bill wondered what could do this to a Minotaur._

_Bill remembered what Charlie had told him about Minotaurs. Never attempt to tackle a Minotaur unless you have at least six skilled wizards on your side. Yet this Minotaur was not an ordinary one. It was humongous._

_"Stunning spells at the count of three!" Bill shouted._

_The Minotaur roared – a blood-curdling, ear-splitting roar. It rushed at them. Bill had no time to react. Before he knew it, three of the order members had collapsed – cut down by the Minotaur's axe. The Minotaur rushed towards the others. Bill's stunning spell bounced harmlessly off its hide. The Minotaur's movements were a blur as it fell upon them. Bill was flung into the air as the Minotaur lobbed a huge rock into his chest._

_Bill got up painfully, his eyes watering as he watched his fellow Order members trying to hold off the fearsome beast. Suddenly the mouth of the cave blazed again as another figure appeared. Bill felt a sinking sensation in his stomach._

_And a figure was revealed near the mouth of the cave. It was covered in a long cloak and its face was hooded. Bill had heard that vampires resided in the Valley of Blood. Was this one of them?_

_The figure raised a wand. A bluish white spiral erupted from the tip of the wand and caught the Minotaur in the chest. For a split second Bill thought the spell had not done any harm to the Minotaur; but then, something happened that changed this opinion._

_The entire area around the Minotaur seemed to pulse with an unearthly energy. And then the Minotaur gave another ear-splitting roar, and burst into a thousand fragments. Gobbets of flesh littered the entire area near the mouth of the cave. Bill's face was plastered with glutinous, dark blood – the blood of the Minotaur._

_Then Bill and the five other members of the Order, who were still standing, pointed their wands in unison at the cloaked figure._

_"Don't be foolish," the figure rasped, "The best option is to flee."_

_Bill noticed a greenish glimmer beneath the cloak. "Not until you reveal who you are," he snarled._

_The figure laughed and raised its cloak._

_Bill looked into the face of Harry Potter._

_And almost immediately, Harry Potter vanished._

_Yet, just before he vanished a flash of light from the wand of Bill Weasley, revealed a shining tiara, cradled in Harry's arms._

* * *

The entire table gasped as the memory drew to a chilling conclusion. Hermione was completely shocked. _Harry._

"Needless to say, our further attempts to find Harry were not successful," McGonagall said, her voice graver than usual.

Horace Slughorn, who was seated right next to Alastor Moody, gesticulated wildly. "What spell did he use? I've never seen that spell before."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at that question. It had surprised her when Slughorn, after much hesitation had taken up the responsibility of becoming an Order Member.

It was Moody who answered the question. "The boy used Dark Magic," Moody growled on his harsh, low voice.

The table gasped again.

Moody stood up slowly. His chair creaked as it slid backwards. "I've seen that spell before. It was when I was captured by Voldemort."

Hermione gasped. She had never known that titbit of information before. Was that were he had acquired those scars?

"Yes…" muttered Moody with a sarcastic smile across his scarred face; "I was captured by Voldemort. It happened in the first war. I was fortunate enough to see the Dark Lord torture a fellow prisoner for some crucial information. He sent a greenish white spiral towards the prisoner. The prisoner shrieked for hours on end... as if his insides were being torn apart. And I reckon they were."

Several persons seated at the table flinched, including Hermione. She shuddered. Could Harry possibly use the Dark Arts?

Moody continued, "I believe that spell, rips your magical core apart, shutting down your internal organs one by one… the most crucial ones go down last. In the end, you die a horrible death. The boy obviously used a modification of the spell. The spiral was bluish white, not greenish white. I think the boy accelerated the process. The Minotaur's magical core was ripped apart, and the force in turn ripped its body apart. I don't know for sure though…"

McGonagall nodded, as Moody took his seat. Hermione still couldn't believe her ears. Could Harry possibly sink to that level… using and modifying the darkest forms of magic?

She knew that darkest forms of magic involved mutilating one's magical core and soul. The Horcruxes were merely one of those forms of Dark Magic. Could Harry possibly do that?

She could only wonder…

* * *

Severus Snape tramped through the infamous Valley of Blood – famed for its vampires – fearlessly, his breath rising in mists before him. Outside, Severus presented a tough, shrewd exterior – he could slaughter as ruthlessly as Antonin Dolohov, torture as mercilessly as Bellatrix Lestrange and slither out of trouble as fast as Lucius Malfoy. He was a true Slytherin – ambitious, dark and cunning.

Yet, inside, he was not as tough as he seemed. His mind was full of memories of a tortured, insane childhood – a childhood, where he had witnessed the cruellest forms of torture and rape. He balled his fists as he remembered the cruel, merciless journey fate had taken him on.

And into his cursed life, an angel had appeared.

And she had disappeared as soon as she had appeared.

His life was a cruel, merciless web of violence – a life that had torn to shreds his innocence and childhood, leaving behind a cold, ruthless and insane man.

At times he wondered whether he had been saved from complete insanity just because he had forced himself to practise Occlumency. Perhaps it had saved him. Today, he was the most hated character in wizarding circles, after the Dark Lord, for two reasons – murdering Albus Dumbledore, the only beacon of hope the world had and for becoming Voldemort's right-hand man… a position that drew both fear and envy.

If he was previously ruthless, now he was positively bestial – pouncing upon opportunities to carry out the most dangerous missions. At times he yearned for death – that fiery red-eyed all-consuming beauty – but he just could not kill himself. He sought death in his service to the Dark Lord. He cursed Dumbledore for depriving his life of all its purpose, and for all his false promises. He was now a being devoid of any purpose in life… save the unquenchable longing for death.

Severus was a powerful wizard. And he knew it. Perhaps that was why the Dark Lord had asked him to check on these… artefacts. He had wondered what these artefacts were. To his astonishment he had found that the artefacts were mostly relics of the founders of Hogwarts. Now, he was on his way to the last artefact – in the Valley of Blood.

He felt a burning curiosity within him to find out the true significance of these artefacts for the Dark Lord. Were these the artefacts Dumbledore had sought? He could only wonder. But then, he suppressed his overwhelming curiosity, using his Occlumency barriers. In the service of the Dark Lord, curiosity could get you killed.

His breath hitched slightly as he neared the entrance of the cave. He lit his wand and saw that the entire area appeared undisturbed. He closed in on the entrance, searching the memory the Dark Lord had given him for any wards placed over it.

And then, something happened that he did not expect.

His shadow rumbled and materialised into a solid shape. And then, there was an ear-splitting roar, and Severus was thrown to the ground.

Severus heart nearly stopped as he stared into inch-long fangs millimetres away from his face. He drew his wand. A claw pierced his hand and the wand flew out. Severus was helpless.

Severus stared into the mouth of the beast that had tackled him to the ground.

He was going to die.

And he was going to die fast.

* * *

_A/N: Not such a great cliffy, is it?_


	3. Bygones and Now

_A/N: I own nothing. J.K owns everything. The words in italics refer to character thoughts or memories._

* * *

**_The Bygones and Now_**

Hermione Granger still sat at the table, furiously working things out. The meeting however was not yet over.

McGonagall surveyed the members of the Order closely before continuing, "Several of you might be surprised at the fact that Harry Potter might be using the Dark Arts. The Order withdraws all previous orders to capture Harry Potter on sight. It is obviously too dangerous. I suggest we stop looking for Harry Potter, and devote all our resources to finding Lord Voldemort's hideout."

Hermione was surprised. _Was McGonagall abandoning Harry?_

McGonagall continued, as if she had read Hermione's mind, "I do not want to abandon Harry. Yet, we cannot waste more time on such matters, however difficult it may be for us. We are losing this war."

There were murmurs around the table.

McGonagall sighed. "Yes", she repeated firmly, "We are losing this war. We've lost important locations all over England. Europe is virtually under siege. We cannot expect any help from the other Ministries. Only three crucial locations are left to us, unscathed – Diagon Alley, Hogwarts Castle and the Ministry of Magic.

"Now, before we move on to the defence of these locations, I would like to mention another curious event, which took place today morning. I met Mundungus Fletcher."

Several people at the table smirked. McGonagall's lips thinned.

"Or rather, Mundungus sought me out. He was released from Azkaban at around four in the morning, today. He sought me out immediately. He seemed to be extremely shaken – more shaken than is necessary for those who reside for a month in Azkaban. After much… _persuasion_… Mundungus handed out a memory."

She twirled her wand again. The Pensieve glowed for a moment, before it again settled to a shimmering silvery-white. Another "movie" began to play out.

* * *

_Mundungus shivered violently… just as he did every evening when the one of the few dementors who chose to remain at Azkaban made their routine, evening inspection of the prison. The dementors who stayed behind were mostly older ones – those who chose to remain at a place where they were assured of regular feeds than hunt for prey in the service of the Dark Lord. However, Mundungus was used to Azkaban at its worst. After all, he ran a risky business._

_Suddenly, he heard a small scuffle near the door of the prison. Mundungus tensed. Was the Dark Lord trying to free his faithful Death Eaters who had been imprisoned? Mundungus shook his head. No, he was placed in the regular wing. Most of the Death Eaters were placed in the high security wing at the East End of the island. No fool in his right mind would try to free the morons in his wing. Suddenly a few Aurors rushed past his cell. Mundungus leaned towards the bars._

"_The East End is under attack!" one of the Aurors exclaimed suddenly, "All of you… MOVE!"_

_Mundungus smiled as the Aurors rushed past his cell. So the Dark Lord was trying to rescue his faithful. _

_Five minutes passed, and an explosion shook the entire island. Mundungus heard a distinct roar. His heart sank. The invaders had a giant with them. With luck, the giant wouldn't come near their end of the island. Some of the prisoners however were not so hopeful. They were writhing and screaming and pleading for help._

"_The fools," muttered Mundungus, "Their voices will draw the giant towards us!"_

_There was a tense pause. And then…_

"_I'm pleasantly surprised, Mundungus… I never knew you had a brain."_

_It took a minute for Mundungus to register that the voice came from inside his cell. He whirled around, his heart beating madly. A cloaked figure stood near the door of his cell. _

" '_Oo are you?" Mundungus rasped as he retreated from the imposing cloaked figure, "I… I am not a Death Eater…"_

"_That is painfully obvious," the figure said smoothly, in a spine-chilling voice he had never heard before._

_The figure removed its hood._

_Mundungus stared into the face of Harry Potter, illuminated in all its harsh glory by the flickering torchlight._

_Mundungus slumped to the ground. " 'Ow did you get in?"_

_Harry drew closer to Mundungus. His face hardened as he hissed, "I've been through worse than this."_

_Mundungus knew that none of the Aurors were near his cell. They were probably fighting the Death Eaters who had attacked the East Wing. And if the Death Eaters had a giant alongside them, the Aurors would be stalled for a long time._

" '_Arry," Mundungus rasped, "Yeh should go. There's Death Eaters 'round." _

"_Do not lull me with your concerned tone, Mundungus," Harry snarled, "It won't work. I need to know a few things."_

" '_Nethin' fer yeh, 'Arry," Mundungus stuttered, his Cockney accent worse than ever._

"_Among the Black heirlooms you stole, Mundungus, there was a locket with the letter 'S' carved on its face. Where is it?" Harry snarled, holding out his wand. Mundungus was thrown back against the wall._

_Mundungus gasped, playing for time, "I… I don' know what yeh're talkin' 'bout, 'Arry…"_

_Harry pushed Mundungus against the wall, grasping his neck firmly. Mundungus was surprised. The boy was extremely strong – physically and magically._

"_Do not waste my time, Mundungus," Harry snarled, "Answer… and you'll live to see your freedom from this hellhole."_

_Mundungus' face was steadily taking a shade of blue. He choked out, " 'Tis buried… near the tree… outside my house…"_

_Harry released Mundungus from the stranglehold. Mundungus slumped to the floor, breathing heavily. When he looked up again, Harry Potter was holding out an envelope to him. He drew closer until he met Mundungus' petrified gaze squarely. _

"_Give this to Hermione," Harry rasped in his cold, eerie voice, "She might just have enough curiosity within her to overcome her hatred of me."_

_Mundungus closed his trembling fingers around the rough fabric of the envelope, and gasped out, "Why?" _

_Harry paused._

"_Why me?" Mundungus repeated._

_Harry smiled, his lips twisting tightly as they surveyed Mundungus' trembling form. "Because you were the easiest Order member to find."_

_Mundungus looked at the envelope. There were no markings upon it._

_And when he looked up again, Harry Potter had vanished._

* * *

There were renewed murmurs around the table at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, as the Order viewed the memory. 

McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. "I visited the place, that is, the tree outside Mundungus' house, this afternoon. I found several of Sirius' family heirlooms. However, I did not see any locket, as described by Harry."

She peered at each of the members, and her eyes came to rest on Hermione and Ron at the end of the table. "Do any of you know why Harry was after this locket?"

Ron looked over at Hermione nervously. Hermione slowly shook her head.

McGonagall leaned back in her chair and sighed. "I don't know what the boy's doing, but I do hope he is helping us in the war."

Alastor Moody, suddenly stood up. Every head at the table turned to face him. "Before we go any further," he said, in his characteristic harsh voice, "I would like to make a confession."

Hermione and Ron both tensed. _Did Moody know about the horcruxes?_

"Kingsley Shacklebolt was not the last person to see Harry Potter before he vanished," Moody said ominously.

Hermione perked up instantly. _What was Moody trying to say?_

"It was me… I was the last Member of the Order to see Harry Potter before he vanished for seventeen months."

* * *

Severus stared into the mouth of the beast that had flattened him to the ground. Was he, Voldemort's right-hand man and Dumbledore's murderer, going to die at the hands of a mere beast? 

It looked like he was.

But inexplicably, as if shifted by an invisible hand, the beast rolled of him. Severus immediately reached out for his wand, which had fallen to the ground in the fray. He felt self-assurance rushing through him as his hand closed around the cold wood of his wand. He turned to face the beast.

But the beast had vanished.

In its place, stood Harry Potter, smiling cruelly, with his wand levelled at Severus.

* * *

There were gasps around the table at Moody's statement. Hermione chanced a glance at the chairs to her left. Ginny's face was pale. Neville and Luna, who had been incorporated into the Order at Hermione's insistence (Ron, as usual, had hidden in a corner as Hermione argued with McGonagall for inducting them into the Order), leaned forward in their chairs. McGonagall herself looked taken aback. Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks too appeared to be shocked. Apparently, Moody had not revealed this information to anyone. 

"I trained him," muttered Moody, "The boy stayed at my house for nearly a month and a half, before he left."

There were more gasps. Ginny's mouth was working furiously. However Hermione and Lupin were much quicker at drilling Moody with questions.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"What is wrong with you?"

"You allowed Harry to _leave_?"

"What do you mean you _trained_ him?"

McGonagall held up her hand and the questions stopped. She gestured to Moody to continue. Her lips were drawn in a very thin line indeed. She appeared to be extremely taken aback.

Moody sighed, his mouth opening in a lopsided gash, and continued, "When Potter left Hogwarts, he had certain things that had not belonged to him previously. He had, in addition to his personal items, six other things. A Pensieve, and five memories."

Hermione was still too furious with Moody to do something other than grind her teeth. But slowly her brain began to comprehend what her ears had registered, and her curiosity overcame her anger. _Surely, Moody does not speak of Dumbledore's Pensieve?_

Moody continued, "Potter, after he escaped from the clutches of the Order, visited my place. In fact, he apparated right into the emergency apparition room at my house. Needless to say, I was extremely surprised at his entry into my house. How had he found the apparition room, much less the house? However my doubts were laid to rest after I viewed one of the memories in possession of Harry Potter."

Every single person sitting at the table tensed. _What revelation was Moody going to bestow upon them?_

"In that memory, I saw Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione paled visibly at these words.

Moody sighed. "Yes, I saw Albus. He pleaded with me to let Potter stay and train. He begged me to teach him all the advanced hexes, curses and spells I knew. And Potter responded to my training in a way I never predicted. Although his magical power was just above average, he learnt every spell and curse I threw at him, with zeal I scarcely see… even in Aurors. Potter remained at my house for a month and a half, soaking in every spell like a dry sponge. He trained sixteen hours a day, and slept for four. A degree of hard work and sincerity I haven't even seen in the professionals. Kept me on my toes, the boy did. But after a month and a half, the boy vanished. I think… in fact, I am quite sure, that he visited his second tutor. He must have viewed the second memory."

Moody stopped as abruptly as he had begun and slowly took his seat at the table. The entire table was dead quiet. Hermione however, was deeply perturbed. _Why didn't Harry visit me? Why didn't he visit Ron and Ginny? We're more than just friends! Why didn't he visit me? Was that break-up he staged with us part of the plan? _

Hermione shook her head. The feeling welling up within her was more than just anger – it was jealousy. _Jealousy?_

Hermione shook her head again. _Why am I feeling jealous? Is it because of the fact that Harry did not visit me? But why should I feel jealous?_

She needed to get away from this meeting. She needed to clear her head, and examine her thoughts thoroughly. But the meeting was not yet over. There was still the matter of the envelope.

* * *

Severus sneered at the man standing before him in the middle of the clearing in the Valley of Blood. 

"Harry Potter," sneered Severus, in his smooth, silky voice, "I had hoped you would learn from our little duel eighteen months ago, and keep your nose out of where it does not belong. But alas! I'd forgotten your abysmal memory span."

Harry sneered, matching Severus' tone in its coldness, "Indeed Snape… you are the one with the overlarge nose that does not stay out of stuff, not I."

White, hot rage – rage that belonged to an era when the Marauders still reigned in Hogwarts – reared its head in his chest, but Severus suppressed it with his Occlumency barriers. The dense forest loomed over him. The clouds moved and the starlight illuminated their clearing faintly.

Severus sneered again. "Your rashness has achieved new levels Potter," he said smoothly, his lips twitching, "Escaping like a rabid dog from the Ministry… truly Potter, you're higher in my list of fools than Crabbe and Goyle."

"Does protecting those who love me seem like such a bad idea, Snape?" Harry spat, and then tilting his head in a dramatic fashion, said, "Oh! I forget… you've never exactly had any loved ones, have you?"

Severus snarled, his rage overwhelming his Occlumency barriers. Severus took deep calming breaths. He muttered viciously through gritted teeth, "Did you think flight from England, would truly enable you to escape the clutches of the Dark Lord?"

Severus smiled, and roared, "And now, I shall take you to him, Potter!"

He waved his wand. A reddish-brown jet of light, so dense it seemed solid, made its way towards Harry Potter. Harry erected a deep blue shield, which deflected the jet of light into the surrounding gloom. Harry smiled, green eyes blazing. "Using the Dark Arts, are we?" he taunted.

Harry flicked his wand, almost teasingly. Severus recognised the flash of red light. He blocked it easily. The spell was not meant to hurt him, it was meant to tease him –_ Levicorpus._ Harry Potter wanted to goad Severus Snape, even in battle.

If Severus was previously enraged, he was now positively furious. He let his Occlumency barriers crash down, as he reached out at Potter's mind with bursts of fierce Legilimency. But Severus met an impenetrable wall of hardened obsidian. Potter was smiling. "Trying to get into my mind, are we?"

Severus sneered. "I'm surprised Potter. Some skill at last."

And then, Severus felt a blast of Legilimency at the walls in his own mind. He staggered backwards. Fury - white, hot, blazing fury – now coursed through his veins. Potter was now insolent enough to attack his mind… the mind of the most accomplished Occlumens in the known world. Severus let his Occlumency barriers come crashing down as he let his rage fuel his spells through his wand. "Crucio!" he snarled. A jet of green light made its way towards Potter, who promptly disapparated. The jet missed, and a resounding crack shook the air, as the spell struck the earth behind Potter.

Severus whirled around, as he sensed Potter behind him, raising his wand. But he turned too late.

A golden white thread of magic struck him in the stomach. Severus' felt his heart stop momentarily. An Anti-Apparition Spell.

Out of sheer frustration, Severus growled out the first spell that came to his mind, "Serpensortia!"

The rage pulsing through him seemed to take form, as a snake sprouted from his wand tip, writhing and hissing fiercely. The snake's eyes glowed like embers in the dark, as it made its way towards Potter. Severus glanced at Potter.

Potter was smiling.

And then Severus remembered. His heart plummeted. _Potter is a Parselmouth._

"A pitiful mistake, for a former Potions Master," Potter sneered.

Severus tried to banish the snake, but his spell was deflected.

Potter hissed at the snake.

The snake turned abruptly. It was now attacking its caster. Severus retreated and tried to disapparate, but Potter's Disapparition Charm was still too strong. The snake slithered towards, Severus.

Potter flicked his wand again, and the snake seemed to enlarge, until its head was level with Severus' eyes. An Engorgement Charm.

Despite his predicament, Severus wondered when Potter had become so skilled at magic. For the first time in his life since graduating from Hogwarts, Severus was about to lose a duel against a scion of the Potter Clan. And that scion was as bitter, twisted and powerful as the last of the Snapes. Severus had eventually met his match, and was losing.

Severus sent another banishment charm at the huge snake, but in vain. Potter blocked his spell with ease. Severus was now being attacked from two fronts. Severus sent another frantic Cruciatus Curse at Potter, but the curse missed by inches.

He whirled around to face the snake. The snake reared, its tongue flicking about wildly, face to face with Severus. Severus frantically raised his wand, sending every spell he could think of at the snake. But Potter blocked his spells with an electric-blue Shield Charm Severus had never seen before. Potter was almost… toying… with him.

Out of sheer desperation, as Severus stared into the snakes eyes – its fangs only a feet away from his pallid face – and cast the most powerful spell he could muster, "Avada…"

But before he could complete the spell, his wand was blasted out of his wand. The snake struck. Severus closed his eyes, and flinched as he anticipated the piercing pain that would course through his brain, when the fangs finally pierce his face. He held up a hand to shield his face. The snake vanished.

Severus – wandless and spiteful - looked at Potter, who was standing with his wand upraised. He felt enraged at himself… for everything. For losing the duel, and for committing that abominable mistake – when he summoned the snake – which had enabled Potter to overpower him so easily.

Potter sneered at him and twirled his wand between his fingertips.

This was it. He was about to be humiliated.

Severus' head was almost bursting with rage and frustration, as he retreated from the cloaked man advancing towards him. He had to escape. There was no choice. He channelled all his emotions through his raised palms. Wandless magic was difficult – but not impossible – for Severus Snape. Bursts of fierce magic escaped his palms. But he knew it was in vain. Potter blocked his magical outbursts quite easily. Another flick of Potter's wand and Severus found himself pinned against the trunk of a gnarled oak at the edge of the clearing in the Valley of Blood.

Severus clenched his teeth and spat on the ground. He felt exhausted. The wandless magic had left him drained. He sagged against his invisible bonds.

Potter's wand was level with his eyes. _Is Potter going to kill me?_

Potter circled his wand, almost hypnotically, before Severus' eyes. Magical warmth seemed to bathe Severus, caressing him as he fell into the comfort of slumber. Enchanted Sleep. Through the mist that was sweeping over the confines of his mind, he saw Potter's strategy clearly for a moment. Frantically, he tried to reconstruct his battered Occlumency barriers.

An infinitesimal moment later, he fell into an enchanted sleep.

"You mean to say Dumbledore… Dumbledore asked Harry to leave?" Hermione asked, barely containing the dismay she felt at Moody's revelation.

Moody nodded, but said nothing.

"And in each of those memories, Dumbledore prescribed a tutor for Harry?" Lupin asked, his normally grey eyes taking a shade of amber.

Moody shrugged, as if to say - "I guess so."

Hermione still did not understand why Dumbledore – the same man who had told them the value of friendship and love – had asked Harry to receive training alone. She even felt a twinge of jealousy and frustration. _Did Dumbledore consider them incapable of assisting Harry? Or, was the path too dangerous for them, but not for Harry?_

_She had beaten Harry at every point from an academic perspective._

_But could she have learnt like Moody described, torturing herself for sixteen hours a day?_

_Or was Harry so motivated to quell his thirst for vengeance?_

The answers to all those questions, unfortunately, lay in Dumbledore's grave.

McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. The murmurs at the table stopped. She continued in a brisk voice, "So I hope we have reached a consensus here. All previous orders to capture Harry Potter on sight and bring him to safety, are withdrawn."

She looked around the table for confirmation. The members nodded though a few like Lupin and Hermione remained stiff-necked.

"And now, I present before the Order, the reason why Mundungus was so eager to meet me – the letter from Harry Potter."

She took out from the inside of her cloak, a plain white envelope. She met Hermione's gaze intently.

Hermione suddenly felt highly uncomfortable. Her heart was beating at a rapid rate. An ill-concealed hopefulness she could not understand, rose within her. _Why am I feeling so nervous? What could possibly make me want to read the letter in privacy? I don't share any private relationship with Harry._

_Or do I? Do I fantasise about it?_

Hermione's hand shook as she took the letter – _from the man she loved._

She shook her head slightly. _Where did that come from?_

_But then, she had been thinking of Harry throughout her seventh year and beyond._

_Ginny had proved too proud for Harry. She had gone out with Dean._

_She realised what Harry's presence meant only after he had left. You never prize the sweet-voiced bird unless it has flown from your backyard._

"Well?" McGonagall asked, startling her out of her strange thoughts, "Are you going to read out the letter, Ms Granger? The Order is quite eager to know the contents of the letter. Of course, if it's too personal you may choose not to read it out."

Hermione blushed. She glimpsed a slight twitch at the corner of McGonagall's lips. Lupin and Tonks were both smiling. _Oh no! They don't know about Harry and Ginny!_

Luna looked as dreamy as usual, while Neville was looking at Ginny in a confused manner. Hermione could see Ginny turning as red as her Weasley hair, out of the corner of her eyes. Ron was clueless… as usual.

Hermione quickly tore open the envelope, though she could not help but feel a little resentful about Ginny. _What right does she have to feel jealous if Harry sends me – his companion of six years – a letter? She's now Dean's girlfriend, after all!_

She scanned the letter quickly. It contained only a few words. Hermione felt a little let down. _Did she feel disappointed? Had she expected something a little more… personal?_

She shook her head again. Harry had never shown any inclination to consider her as more than a best friend. _Or did he?_

She looked at the table, took a deep breath and read out the extremely short letter.

_"Next attack in three weeks."_

* * *

Harry looked up at the heavens, admiring the hundreds of stars twinkling down at him. The view always calmed him, no matter what the circumstances. The prone form of Severus Snape, lulled into an enchanted sleep, lay at his feet. Harry knelt beside Snape's body, slowly caressing the smooth forehead of the former Potions Master. 

Occlumency was not the ultimate defence against Legilimency – it was never the ultimate defence. Even the mind of an accomplished Occlumens could be invaded by a skilled Legilimens at close range, if he was in deep sleep and his Occlumency barriers were lowered. Meanwhile, if the Occlumens did erect his Occlumency barriers before he went to sleep, his subconscious will continue to sustain his Occlumency barriers and make his mind impenetrable to mental attacks. It was one of the reasons why Snape had insisted on Harry emptying his mind before he went to sleep, back in his fifth year at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Harry could only pray that Snape had been riled enough before Harry lulled him into an indefinite enchanted sleep. If Snape had reconstructed even a part of his Occlumency barriers before he fell asleep, it would render his mind impenetrable. Harry slowly reached out at Snape's mind with a sliver of Legilimency. He breathed out a sigh.

Snape's Occlumency barriers were completely annihilated.

Harry probed deeper into the mind of the man he hated the most in the world. Sometimes, he felt a certain pride in all that he had achieved so far. Seventeen months of rigorous, harsh training in magic had left him a changed man. Only two years ago, if he had defeated Snape in a duel (which was highly doubtful – his magical ability was pathetic back then), he would have killed the man, thus alerting Voldemort of his hunt for the Horcruxes. Obviously, Voldemort would have made more Horcruxes.

At times, he felt a deep hatred for all that he had become. He had killed and butchered. He had cut down umpteen magical creatures, witches and wizards to reach this level. His worst fear was himself. If he looked into the Mirror of Erised, he would not see his family… he would see his own body, lying dead amidst a darkened graveyard. Nothing more, nothing less. Voldemort had reduced him to a level, which no animal is capable of – yearning for death and vengeance.

Death – it was his utmost dream… his love. He wanted to feel its soft, caressing arms around him, lulling him into the eternal, ultimate sleep. The Sleep of the Damned.

But he could not kill himself.

Although, that was another story.

He probed deeper into Snape's mind.

And what he saw shocked him.

* * *

There were no gasps or faint screams at the table in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place this time. There was only a numb shock. McGonagall grabbed the letter from Hermione's hands and scanned it rapidly. Hermione saw her mouth the words – "Next attack in three weeks." 

McGonagall looked at the table, taking a deep steadying breath. Her lips were drawn in a thin line. She looked closely at the Order, and said, "We must be prepared. If Potter's information is true, You-Know-Who will attack any of the three locations left to us – Diagon Alley, Hogwarts or the Ministry. We have to be prepared. Kingsley - take this letter and alert the Minister, although I doubt it will do much but generate more panic. We have been losing this war so far. We must not lose now."

Kingsley nodded at McGonagall. The rest of the members tensed.

"Alastor, Remus and Horace – stay. The rest of you – disperse. I shall inform you of the next meeting as soon as possible."

All the members seated at the table, save Slughorn, Moody and Lupin exited the kitchen. Kingsley Shacklebolt – Senior Auror – snatched the letter out of McGonagall's wand and proceeded to the Ministry.

Hermione and Ron sat quietly in one corner of the living room. Ginny, Neville and Luna were playing a game of Exploding Snap with the Weasley twins in the opposite corner. There was a palpable tension around the room, as that of hospital corridor when a dear one falls sick. The question buzzing through their minds was the same – _How did Harry know when You-Know-Who would attack next?_

Ron slowly drew closer to Hermione. "Damn!" he whispered furiously, "Harry got to the locket first."

Hermione sighed. "Yes," she whispered back, exasperated, "He got to the locket. And to think we were waiting for Mundungus to be released before we drilled him with questions."

They had never abandoned Harry. She and Ron had furiously searched for more information about the Horcruxes, consulting every single book in the Hogwarts Library, and the Black Library at Grimmauld Place. They had found very few clues. They suspected that the memories Dumbledore had left Harry contained at least a few hints as to where the Horcruxes lay. Or had Harry figured it out himself?

It had been painfully obvious who R.A.B was – Regulus Arcturius Black, Sirius' brother. However, they had difficulty finding Mundungus. And by the time they figured out where Mundungus was, the Ministry sniffed him out. He was sentenced to three months in Azkaban for forgery and theft – petty crimes in these dangerous times. At times, Hermione was surprised the Ministry could focus on such mundane crimes when such a serious war was raging throughout Europe. Voldemort had a support base in almost every country in the continent. Britain was merely the crowning glory of his conquest.

And now, Harry had got to Mundungus before they did. He must have destroyed the Horcrux – how, she knew not. However, had he found the rest of them?

"And what about the cave where Bill saw him?" Ron asked suddenly, startling Hermione out of her thoughtful stupor, "Do you think Harry found a Horcrux there?"

"Perhaps," Hermione said, biting her lower lip thoughtfully, "I guess we'll know sooner or later. Harry has to come back – sometime."

Ron sniggered. "Yes, and we owe him a few punches."

Hermione shook her head. "I… don't know, Ron. Harry looks so… changed."

The expression on Ron's face darkened. "I know," he said darkly, "He's using the Dark Arts."

Hermione shuddered as she remembered how the Minotaur had been torn apart by Harry's spell.

Ron looked at Hermione closely. "Do you… you think he's found all the other Horcruxes?"

Hermione looked at Ron and mustered the only answer she could think of.

"We can only hope so, Ron… we can only hope so."

* * *

Harry scanned the rest of Severus Snape's mind, despite his initial shock. Amidst the violent, abusive memories, he had detected a strange vision. The odd one out. He quickly dug his way through Snape's mind, towards the memory. 

He had been right. Nagini's death had alarmed Voldemort. The Dark Lord had sent Snape to check on the condition of the Horcruxes, though Snape did not know of their significance. Harry sat immersed in thought. There was only one thing he could do. He had to modify Severus Snape's memory. Voldemort had asked the Potions Master to report back in four days. As of tonight, he had two days left. Harry had two days to modify Snape's memory and come up with a plausible alibi for Nagini's death.

He fingered the blue transporter he had given Wormtail thoughtfully, scratching his sparsely bearded chin with the other hand. And then, it struck him. It was easy to predict what Voldemort would do if he ever got his hands on the transporter. Voldemort would figure out a way to recharge the stone. And then, he would attack. The stone could be recharged in three weeks. Harry had no choice. He had to carry out his plan. The stone would inevitably end up in Voldemort's hands. But he had to alert the Order.

He had to seek out the last Horcrux. He had to seek out Salazar's locket.

For that he would have to meet Mundungus in Azkaban.

And Mundungus was a member of the Order.

He conjured a parchment and a quill, and wrote the shortest letter he had ever written in his entire life –

_"Next attack in three weeks."_

He placed the blue stone before Severus. He pulled out his wand and started on his Snape's memory modification programme.

* * *

Severus entered the Dark Lord's secret chamber. He was ahead of time. But he felt no pride… there was no space for pride in the dark recesses of his mind – more impenetrable than the Dark Lord's fortress. He felt a chill move up his spine as the Dark Lord entered the elaborately decorated stone chamber. He knelt immediately and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robe. 

"Rise, Severus," said the Dark Lord in his cold, high voice with a flourish of his hand, "Tell me."

"My Lord," Severus murmured smoothly, "The artefacts appear to have been untouched for decades."

"Let me see," the Dark Lord muttered, and pulled out his wand. Severus obediently brought the memory of his journey to the forefront of his mind. The Dark Lord murmured an incantation, and a silvery thread of memory transferred itself to the Dark Lord's mind. His eyes blurred over for a few minutes as he scanned the memory.

"I am satisfied," he said, "You have done well, Severus. Your memory is highly detailed, more detailed than a memory usually is. Lord Voldemort will reward you handsomely indeed, my snake, when this war is over. But what of Nagini?"

"Master," muttered Severus, "I found this in the Valley of Blood."

He drew out a blue stone. Voldemort took the stone delicately from Severus' hand. His snake-like eyes lit up with an ominous red light as they scanned the stone. "Do you know what this is, Severus?"

"I would be a poor Potions Master if I did not, my lord. It is a magical transporter, capable of transporting over a hundred wizards and witches over long distances, bypassing even Anti-Apparition Charms. They were used by the ancient Romans, to transport their armies over long distances."

Voldemort fingered the stone, his eyes lighting up wildly. "Yes, Severus," he said gleefully. Then his expression darkened. Severus felt a chill creep up over him, as the temperature in the room fell a few degrees.

"Am I to take it that Nagini must have slithered over this stone?"

Severus nodded. "I am inclined to believe so, My Lord."

"And who do you think placed it there?"

Severus' dark eyes glinted in the semi-darkness of the chamber. "I took the liberty of performing a charm on the stone in order to determine the number of years that had passed since it had initially been charmed. I daresay, that the stone has remained in the same place where we housed Nagini for an extremely long time – nearly fourteen hundred years."

Voldemort looked at Severus incredulously.

"Yes, My Lord," Severus affirmed, "Fourteen hundred years. A great battle was waged in the same place, as you very well know, Master. Merlin fought the barbarians led by Wortigern at the same place. It is my belief that this stone was accidentally lost during the battle and its magical quality mutated. As a result, when it detected an enormous magical presence – Nagini – it transported her to a random location… the Valley of Blood… where she was devoured by the local vampires."

"Indeed…" muttered Voldemort, and then looked at Severus with a tight smile, "You have come up with a plausible explanation. Perhaps you are right."

"I even took the liberty of questioning one of the vampires in the Valley, my Lord," Severus said silkily, "The vampire admitted that they had devoured Nagini. It seems the Transylvanian Ministry had forbidden them from consuming the blood of the local magical creatures. They had not tasted magical blood for a very long time…"

"And when Nagini appeared," Voldemort interrupted, "They were naturally drawn to her. She was not a local magical creature, and they devoured her… consumed by their bloodlust. A satisfactory explanation."

Severus bowed.

"You have done well, my Snake," Voldemort said gleefully, "Nagini's death does not matter… if the other artefacts are safe." Severus had to strain his ears to catch the Dark Lord's last few words.

"But do you know the significance of this stone, my Snake?" whispered Voldemort ominously, and Severus felt the temperature in the room turn lukewarm, "Do you know that you have in reality brought me a gift?"

Voldemort raised his hands outwards to the great doors as if extending his spidery fingers over the whole of England.

"At last," he screeched, and Severus felt a cold thrill creep up his veins, "At last, I can embark upon more ambitious projects. I can now break through all the Ministry protection charms and anti-apparition barriers… all with the help of this… artefact."

And then Voldemort turned to face Severus, his snake-like, reddish eyes glinting madly in the semi-darkness. "Gather my troops – Death Eaters only. The stone might not be able to hold the magical power of all the creatures that seek to aid us. We invade Gringotts in three weeks."

Severus bowed.

"And send Nott hither. He failed in his task. I asked him to scour Nagini's hide-out for magical objects."

"But Master, the stone, although it holds great magical potential shows no evident…"

"Silence," Voldemort said dangerously, "Gather the armies and send Nott to me."

"As you say, my Lord."

Severus bowed again and exited the chamber.

That night the entire fortress reverberated with the horrifying screams of a certain Death Eater.

And a greyish-white rat lay shivering uncontrollably in a broom cupboard.

* * *

_A/N: So it comes. Harry's first battle._


	4. Et tu?

_A/N: I own nothing. The words in italics refer to thoughts, memories or observations of the characters._

* * *

**_Et tu? _**

The doors to the room were elaborately carved, depicting satyrs and maenads after the Greco-Roman styles. Some people did criticise the Minister of Magic for erecting such magnificent goblin-wrought doors, while half the people living in Knockturn Alley were starving to death.

Today, however, the doors were closed shut. Two huge Aurors stood outside the door, tense and alert, suspiciously scrutinising every single Ministry worker that went past. And inside the doors, there was a fervent argument going on.

Rufus Scrimgeour gesticulated wildly as he spoke, pausing to glare at a piece of parchment lying on his desk. "I simply cannot act on the basis of this!"

He paused to consider the people standing before him. Their visit was completely unexpected. Minerva McGonagall and Alastor Moody, leaders of the legendary Order of the Phoenix were standing before him. He cursed the piece of parchment that had caused all this trouble.

McGonagall glared at the Minister, who squirmed under her gaze. Rufus still had not forgotten how fierce his former Transfiguration Teacher was. At Hogwarts, he had been at the receiving end of her ire too many times to be comfortable in her presence. He turned to Moody.

"Alastor, you cannot possibly expect me to withdraw all our Aurors!" he pleaded.

"In war, Minister," Moody muttered, "You have to take risks…"

"I know that well, Alastor… it's just that we cannot abandon the whole of England just to fortify one or two locations!"

"Or," muttered McGonagall, "Are you continuing your enmity with Potter?"

Scrimgeour whirled around to face McGonagall. "What?"

McGonagall looked at Scrimgeour sternly. "After all, Potter was the one who refused to be your poster boy…"

Scrimgeour's demeanour changed. The lines on his face deepened as he scowled. "Some would say it was Potter's duty to aid the Ministry and boost the public morale!" he snarled.

"Public?" asked Moody, his mouth opening incredulously in a lopsided gash, "Public? There is no public left, Minister! Most of the families have fled to either Asia or the Americas… even Africa!"

Rufus was now completely annoyed. "Yes, all because of Potter."

Moody opened his mouth to argue, but McGonagall intervened. "The past is past, Minister. It's the present that matters. Will you act upon this letter?"

"For God's sake, Minerva, all it says is… five bleeding words!"

"Yes, Rufus… but five highly ominous words."

"Ominous?" exclaimed Scrimgeour, his eyes bulging widely, "The boy is deluded, Minerva! He's a delinquent on the run! It's obvious from the memories you showed me; I've yet to be convinced that he's doing something useful for the Ministry!"

Moody bent over the table and looked Scrimgeour in the eye. Rufus squirmed again, as he looked into the mismatched eyes – one small and the other huge, one dark and the other electric blue. "So you will not act upon the contents of this letter?" Moody asked with a tone of finality.

Scrimgeour shook his head dramatically. "I see no reason to abandon the rest of England only to fortify Hogwarts and Diagon Alley!"

McGonagall drew close to the table, behind which Rufus stood. "We are losing this war, Rufus," she sighed, "Don't you think it's time to go on the defensive?"

Rufus' mouth opened incredulously. "Losing?" he asked, "Losing?" He shook his head like a wounded lion. "I will not act without further proof of your claims that You-Know-Who will attack Diagon Alley, or Hogwarts."

Moody groaned and McGonagall's lips thinned.

"Look," Rufus began, although he knew that reassurance would be futile now, "There's no way, You-Know-Who will ever get past the Anti-Apparition barriers. He has to find a way past it. That means he would have to pass right through the Leaky Cauldron. Our squads will spot him immediately and give battle. The reinforcements will arrive in time."

"And what would happen if Voldemort finds a way past the barriers?" Moody asked, his hand tightening across the corner of the table.

"Impossible," said Rufus, shaking his head, "It would take enormous magical power to do that."

McGonagall started to speak but Scrimgeour interrupted her, slamming his hand on a stack of scrolls stacked at one end of the table, "The conversation is over. I will post a squad of trainee Aurors at Diagon Alley and Hogwarts to inform us in case of an attack. And I will inform the goblins of the possible siege on Gringotts. Apart from that, you cannot possibly expect me to do anything more! Surely not…"

Moody stiffened and stepped past the majestic doors of the Minister's office. McGonagall followed him. The Minister sat down at his table with a sigh, pulled the scrolls closer and began to stack them in his corner cabinet.

* * *

The moment they were beyond the vision of the Aurors guarding the Minister's office, Moody turned to McGonagall with a grim face and said, "I told you he would never comply. It's not practical."

The Transfiguration Professor's lips thinned. "Rufus," she said ominously, "shall be eating his words before long."

They both turned and made their way towards the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

* * *

A slight breeze blew through the windows of the Leaky Cauldron. The wooden boards shielding room number one-zero-five from the cold breeze, creaked noisily. The moon rose over the distant buildings, as seen from the dreary room. Its faint light shone through the narrow window, illuminating the room with its faint silvery light.

A silhouette moved across the wall. The outline blurred and a man rose from the floor, blearily surveying the slight gap between the wooden boards of his room. The man's brow furrowed as he surveyed the gash between the boards; it looked as if someone had deliberately plunged a blunt knife through the boards.

"It's cracked," he muttered, "Just like my own life."

The man stood up. The light of the moon seemed to caress his features, illuminating them with its soft, silvery beams. His startlingly green eyes were the first things one would notice if he graced a room filled with humans. His black hair stood out at odd places, giving it a messy appearance. His nose was sharp, and just beyond its tip lay almost feminine lips, thin and small. A scraggly beard grew over his chin. He would have looked handsome if not for his ragged, ill groomed appearance.

He stretched out near the window, feeling the breeze blow through the crack between the boards, and pulled on his robes. As far as he could remember he had worn the same set of robes for the past six months. He noticed a flurry of activity near the end of Diagon Alley.

_Goblins._

The goblins had been busy transporting their wealth from Gringotts. In a way, it comforted him. It meant his message had reached the Order of the Phoenix. The goblins were removing their wealth to a safer location, in case Voldemort laid siege upon the walls of Gringotts.

_But which side will the goblins ultimately choose?_

Yet, he was growing impatient. _Where were the Aurors?_

As far as he could see, there were no preparations, apart from the frantic goblin activity, for a battle. And as far as he knew, Voldemort would attack Diagon Alley.

And he, Harry Potter, knew a lot.

Harry knew from Severus Snape's memories that Voldemort's forces were not yet mobilised. The giants were yet to be gathered in full force. The goblins had yet to choose sides. The Dragon Riders from Bulgaria were unavailable. The dementors were still scattered across England, copulating and proliferating. Fenrir Greyback was still training his werewolf hordes in France. This intercontinental war was only beginning.

Which all went to show that Voldemort would attack Diagon Alley. It would serve three purposes. Firstly, it would completely shatter the already weak morale of the Wizarding public. If the Dark Lord did seize a popularly visited place, it would cause widespread panic. The Wizarding citizens would flee across the continent within the week. Secondly, Voldemort will be able to infiltrate the erstwhile fortress of the goblins – Gringotts – and unravel its magical secrets. Thirdly, Voldemort would push the Ministry on the defensive. No, the last battle will not be fought at Diagon Alley.

But, Diagon Alley, just might be _his _last battle.

But he did not care. He had nothing left in the world to call his own.

* * *

Hermione sighed. Another Order meeting. Ever since they had received that ominous message from Harry, the Order had conducted a meeting every two days. If Harry's message was true, the attack could take place anytime next week.

She saw Remus Lupin lean forward in his chair. The greying hair on his temples seemed almost white in the light of the lamps. "Do you think Lord Voldemort will bring his magical creatures with him?" he asked.

McGonagall shook her head slowly, and then shrugged. An uncharacteristic gesture, for the Transfiguration Professor, who was usually extremely self-assured. "We do not know, as of yet," she replied, "He might bring the dementors. But personally, I think the Death Eaters alone are enough to overwhelm Diagon Alley; that is, if You-Know-Who finds a way to get past the Anti-Apparition barriers. If he cannot get past the barriers, the Ministry will have enough time to fortify the place, before he penetrates the barriers."

"Even so," interrupted Moody, "We have no guarantee of success. We do not know the exact number of forces the Dark Lord commands, at the moment."

"What are our plans?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked from a corner of the table.

Hermione felt a slight nudge at her side. She turned and found Dean Thomas gazing ardently at Ginny. She cleared her throat and Dean was startled out of his fantasy. She furiously motioned to him to listen to Moody's plans.

Moody stood up slowly, his wooden leg sliding noisily across the floorboards. "We have no plans. We attack in force. If the Dark Lord attacks Diagon Alley, and gets past the Anti-Apparition barriers, we'll have no chance to make any ruddy plans. We stream in through the four main entrances, and hope the Ministry provides us with enough cover to get through and fight."

Hermione's stomach knotted in fear. She would fight a true battle for the first time in the service of the Order.

McGonagall stood up clearing her throat. "We obviously need every witch and wizard we can get. Diagon Alley, Hogwarts and the Ministry are like islands in You-Know-Who's massive sea of conquest. We have little hope of defending Diagon Alley. Yet we shall not give in without a fight. And yet, I cannot risk the Order carrying… burdens… to this battle."

McGonagall sighed audibly as her eyes alighted upon Ginny and Luna. "Therefore, Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood will not fight… in this battle."

Ginny made a noise like an angry cat. Luna tensed in her chair. "I can fight," Ginny snarled.

McGonagall's lips thinned. "Indeed? You say this, despite having no combat practice."

Ginny opened her mouth furiously, but McGonagall forestalled her. "No, Miss Weasley. If you are referring to the brief brush with the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, you are deluded."

McGonagall sighed again. "Listen, Miss Weasley, you were extremely lucky. That is why you survived. I cannot take this unnecessary risk. You have not received any formal training in non-verbal magic nor have you completed your seventh year at Hogwarts. You lack the expertise required to fight in a decent battle."

Ginny stood up, her beautiful head swaying gracefully. Her chair slid backwards and crashed against the wall. She slammed her palm down on the table. "Is that so?" she asked, every syllable trembling with rage.

McGonagall nodded curtly. Hermione could not help but notice that Mrs Weasley looked extremely relieved. Ginny turned around, her hair lashing through the air like a whip of fire, opened the door of the kitchen and exited the meeting place, slamming the door behind her.

Even Luna looked taken aback by this display of sudden emotion. The normally unruffled youngest Weasley was obviously furious. McGonagall sat down in her chair and looked at Molly Weasley exasperatedly.

Mrs Weasley sighed and got up from her chair. "I'll explain it to her," she said as she too, exited the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Hermione was shocked by Ginny's behaviour, to say the least. Although she was hardly surprised. If anyone could have an outburst at Headquarters, it was the defiant Ginny Weasley. Again, she wondered why Harry had chosen Ginny, the proud and capricious young Weasley.

McGonagall looked at Ron pointedly. Ron stiffened slightly. "I've heard the Minister has included you, Mr Weasley, in the trainee squad that will maintain vigil over Diagon Alley."

Ron nodded nervously. "We stay in a hotel on the street right across Diagon Alley. We'll know if an attack takes place."

"Very well," said McGonagall, "But your duty, Mr Weasley is to inform us in case an attack does take place. Let your colleagues inform the Ministry. You, on the other hand, will report to us immediately in case an attack takes place."

Ron nodded again.

McGonagall cleared her throat and said, "The meeting is adjourned."

* * *

Harry stretched his fingers in the twilight, near the window of his room in the Leaky Cauldron, as he contemplated his deeds. Deeds that were terrible. Deeds so terrible they filled his dreams with gore and violence._Yet, was he so very changed? Was there no hope left for him?_

Dumbledore once told him love was his greatest weapon. Purity of heart… _love_.

Harry collapsed to the floor in a fit of hysterical laughter. _Purity._

_Purity. Love._

_Was he still capable of love? Was his heart still pure, despite all that he had done?_

"_If you do your karma according to the sacred canons of Dharma_," the Buddhist monk, his third tutor, had taught him, "_You will always remain the purest of all beings_."

The Buddhist monk had taught him Occlumency. Control of his emotions. Another friend of Dumbledore's.

But the question remained. _Was his heart still pure?_

He had never murdered if he could have helped it. He had never killed unless self-preservation demanded it. He had never broken into a house or hotel unless it was his only resort. He had done his duty, answered his call to end Voldemort's reign of darkness.

Yes. He was not yet tainted by evil.

* * *

_Number Twelve Grimmauld Place reeks of fear and tension._

These were the first words that came to Hermione's mind as she sat huddled in a corner of the hall in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London. The dark hall was filled with moving silhouettes in the faint lamplight. _Darkness._

_Darkness that was attacking them._

The candles flickered. Several people tensed, their bones cracking in the tense silence that filled the entire hall. Hermione had lost sight of Dean and Neville in the tangle of bodies in Grimmauld Place. They must be huddled in another corner of the hall. She saw Fleur's silvery hair glimmer in the semidarkness. Bill and Lupin were having a whispered conversation next to her. Ginny and Luna were upstairs. They will not fight in this battle.

Amidst the fear, tension and the butterflies in her stomach, she wondered what Harry was doing at the moment. _Was he alive? Would he join them in the battle? Had he uncovered all the Horcruxes?_

They were all waiting for a signal. _The signal._

_The signal to plunge into the darkness that threatened to engulf them._

_Would Voldemort be at Diagon Alley?_

_Would Voldemort attack today?_

There was a loud crack outside the main door of their secret headquarters.

_Thunder crackles across the heavens tonight._

The door burst open.

_It was time._

A dishevelled Ronald Weasley stood outside the door, his blue-black Auror robes revealed in the light that flashed across the sky. A deep, rolling boom of thunder echoed across the hall.

Ron stumbled into the hall and gasped, "They've come. They've attacked. They've got past the Anti-Apparition barriers."

The hall gasped. McGonagall's tall, trim figure was revealed near the opposite end of the hallway. "At last, it comes," she muttered.

The entire hall seemed to come to life as nearly sixty Order members stood up and gazed at McGonagall. Hermione saw McGonagall standing like a statue in the middle of a hall – a strange, bespectacled statue, its thin lips drawn in a narrow line.

The lips moved. "Go. Apparate outside the Leaky Cauldron."

The Order members rushed out of Headquarters. And then, group by small group, they vanished.

* * *

Harry Potter woke up in his dark room in the Leaky Cauldron, to the sound of a deep echoing boom, which reverberated across Diagon Alley. He pulled out the wand from the wand-holder resting near his waist.

_It was time_. He was about to be tested in battle for the first time.

He tapped the top of his head with his wand. Ice-cold tendrils of magic – the Disillusionment Charm – crept down his body, enveloping it in an uncomfortable, but reliable camouflage.

He moved silently down the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron. Battle was about to be joined.

* * *

Hermione reappeared outside the Leaky Cauldron.

One o' clock at night in London.

She pulled out her wand, tensed, and looked over at Ron. He was pale-faced.

McGonagall's wand illuminated the entire area. "In formation," she muttered tersely.

They split into four groups. One of the groups led by Remus Lupin was to attack from Knockturn Alley. The second group, under Alastor Moody, moved off to attack from the rear entrance of Diagon Alley. Apparently, the Leaky Cauldron was not the only entrance to the Alley. The third group, under McGonagall's command was to use the main entrance, to attack. Hermione was placed in the fourth group – the reserve group, headed by Horace Slughorn, which was to stand by, until they were summoned.

It was quiet as a graveyard in Diagon Alley. A sleepy little street in England. Hermione found it almost impossible to believe there was a war raging on behind the shabby walls of the Leaky Cauldron. McGonagall's group moved into the shadows of the shabby restaurant.

There were only two street lamps that were still operational in this corner of the bustling city. McGonagall's group soon melded into the shadows.

And then, the unexpected happened, all at once.

The Leaky Cauldron reverberated with the sound of a dazzling explosion. There were screams everywhere. Hermione gasped.

Horace Slughorn immediately advanced, leading his group into the popular Wizarding restaurant. Hermione tensed, and pulled out her wand, just as Neville did the same next to her. They advanced into the shattered remains of the restaurant.

Hermione gasped as she trudged over the collapsed remains of the restaurant. Suddenly there was an almighty thud, and McGonagall's group was revealed near the brick wall, which led to Diagon Alley. Hermione gasped again.

McGonagall had cast some sort of bubble charm that protected her entire group from the wooden beams, which collapsed because of the explosion. For the first time, Hermione realised how powerfully magical her erstwhile Transfiguration Professor was. The Professor's lips were pursed in a thin line as she flicked her wand, dispelling the bubble.

"Someone told the Death Eaters of our plans," she whispered as Slughorn drew up alongside her, "We have a traitor in our midst."

"What do we do now?" Slughorn asked.

"Now?" muttered McGonagall, her lips curving in a cruel smile, "Now, we attack. We cannot turn back now."

"But I swear," she continued in a menacing voice, that sent shudders down Hermione's spine, as she advanced, "If I ever meet the traitor within the Order, I will personally rip him limb from limb."

The third and fourth groups melded into each other to form a single, compact group as McGonagall tapped the brick wall. "I hope the others have not met with the same fate," McGonagall whispered.

The wall parted.

And Hermione saw Diagon Alley like she had never seen it before.

Diagon Alley was a raging inferno.

McGonagall let out a faint gasp.

The apothecary had been razed to ashes. The rest of the buildings were either burning or had completely collapsed. There were bodies everywhere.

_Bodies – with blood streaming out of nearly a dozen wounds._

_Bodies – with blood spurting out of twisted and tortured gaps._

_Bodies – burned and scorched until nothing could be recognised._

_Bodies – everywhere._

The two groups, with McGonagall's group ahead of Slughorn's, stepped over the rubble cautiously. And then, Hermione registered the sounds – screams and shrieks could be heard just around the corner.

McGonagall edged forward until she was standing with her back to the wall of the apothecary – now demolished completely. She peered around the edge. She gasped. And then, with incredible swiftness she plunged on around it. The rest of the group dashed away behind her. Hermione moved into the battle amidst the flames.

Hermione was the last to leap around the ill-fated edge. And she plunged right into the midst of a magical battle. The scene was astounding. All the buildings in the area had been razed to the ground, leaving nothing but smouldering debris, leaving a shallow valley-like depression in the normally level surface. And Hermione stood on the edge of the depression. Initially, she saw only three colours by the light of the fires that were burning everywhere. Blue and black and white. A thousand men and women, fighting in an artificial valley.

Death Eaters – wearing white masks seemed to be everywhere. They had formed a solid wedge of their own legions at the very edge of the depression. And at the opposite end of the depression stood a white fortress – Gringotts. And at the entrance to Gringotts stood three figures, their hands upraised, shooting bolts of lights from their wands beyond the legions cramped at the front of the building. Neville peered at the entrance to Gringotts through a pair of Omnioculars and muttered, "I can't see them. The smoke's obscuring my vision."

Hermione shrugged. The Ministry had arrived in full force. There were blue robes everywhere – the Aurors were trying to get through the Death Eater legions guarding the entrance to Gringotts. But the legion was wedged too deeply within the depression that had been created by Dark Magic. The Ministry had arrived too late.

The Aurors were shouting orders to one another, and firing spells at the solid mass of bodies. Hermione saw some of the Death Eaters fall along the front lines, but others took their place. They did not break ranks at all. These were not the poorly trained Death Eaters of the past. They were highly skilled and trained combatants – that made them all the more fearsome. The Aurors couldn't get past the front lines. Suddenly there was a disturbance at the centre of the legion. From her vantage point at the edge of the depression, Hermione could see what was happening. The front lines parted. A torrent of Death Eaters from the centre leaked out through the gaps. It was now the Aurors that were thrown on the defensive. The Auror ranks were broken. The Death Eaters were now amongst the Aurors, fighting man to man.

Suddenly a wave of multicoloured robes broke into the Auror ranks from all sides, joining them against the Death Eaters. The Order had joined the fight. Hermione's heart leapt. The rest of the Order had made it relatively unscathed. Nearly a hundred Order members had joined the battle. She could see the red shocks of Weasley hair amongst the multicoloured crowd, trading spells with the dark-robed Death Eaters. Hermione was startled out of her observation by Neville. "Shall we join them?" Neville asked, every syllable quivering with anticipation.

Hermione realised with a start that she and Neville were the only ones left at the edge of the depression. The others were immersed in the war. She took a deep breath and charged headlong into the fury of war.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall had been gifted with extraordinary quick thinking and enormous magical potential. Although she might not compare with the likes of Merlin, Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, she was nonetheless a duellist to be feared. She dispatched two Death Eaters with a single curse from her wand.

This was battle. You had to kill, to survive. Yet the fools from the Ministry were as of yet, firing off stunners at the Death Eaters. Minerva quickly broke through the cordon of Death Eaters that had surrounded her by transfiguring the ground beneath them into a swamp and advanced only to find herself face to face with Rufus Scrimgeour.

"Rufus", she yelled at him, and he turned slightly, still clutching his wand. "Rufus," she said over the din, "Let them use the offensive spells!"

Scrimgeour was bleeding freely from a cut across his forehead. He nodded, pointed his wand at his throat, and shouted, "Switch to the offensive!"

The spells showering upon the Death Eaters suddenly changed colour. Watching the spells was like watching a beam of light diffracted through a prism. To an observer high above, it must have looked like rainbows were flying across the surface of the earth. Jets of light streamed through the air. Minerva, with agility that far belied her age, dodged a jet of green light, and fired a spell of her own at the oncoming Death Eater, who promptly collapsed.

* * *

The legion acting as a human shield held firm. The Aurors still could not penetrate their ranks and retake Gringotts. An insurmountable wall of bodies stood in front of the erstwhile goblin fortress. Hermione was still stuck along the outer fringes of the war. Suddenly, a black-robed Death Eater attacked her. The jet of purple light barely missed her. "Rictusempra!" Hermione shrieked in a rush of adrenaline. Her spell caught the Death Eater right in the middle of the stomach, and threw him heavily against the ground. He was rendered unconscious.

They were losing the battle. The legion still held. A voice – a high, cold, magically amplified voice – echoed across the entire Alley. "Hold on, my brethren. The Black Legion shall take Diagon Alley. Darkness shall rule tonight."

Voldemort. The voice froze Hermione's blood. _Was this the voice that had haunted so many of Harry's nights?_

She dodged and twisted, looped and turned as she strove to avoid the cluster of bodies grappling with one another. One man. She had brought down only a single man. She was yet a novice in battle.

Hermione was blasted off her feet suddenly. She fell to the ground heavily. A tall Death Eater advanced upon her. She looked at the apparition, covered from its eerie white mask to the hem of its robes in blood, as it crept over her, its wand held high. The apparition removed its mask to revealed a pale, sneering face with a hooked nose.

"Snape," she gasped.

"Not so courteous now, are we Miss Granger?" Snape leered at her.

She tried to raise her wand hand, but the wand was blasted away out of her fingers.

"I'd hoped you would offer better resistance Miss Granger, but you disappoint me," Snape sneered, "Why, even Potter was better than you were."

Hermione felt a reckless rage well up within her, but it was soon replaced by a feeling of helplessness. Snape was going to slaughter her, without any mercy. She could see it in those black eyes… black as the deepest abyss.

Snape raised his wand. And almost immediately a jet of red light struck him. Snape managed to hold on to his wand, but staggered backwards, in alarm. Neville Longbottom stood in front of Hermione, shielding her from their former Potions Master.

Hermione saw Severus narrow his eyes in distaste. She desperately tried to get up, but found that she was helpless. The spell that had struck her had paralysed her limbs. "Admirable as your desire to protect Granger is, you'll share the same fate as her," Snape snarled.

Neville raised his wand, but Snape lazily flicked his own wand. Neville's wand was blasted out of his fingertips, before he could even mutter a single spell. Neville fell to the ground, clearly unconscious. "Pathetic," muttered Snape.

Snape raised his wand. Hermione waited with bated breath for the spell that would mortally shatter her, but the spell never came. The wand emitted red sparks into the air, which tore through the reddish-orange glow of the fires raging through Diagon Alley that illuminated the ground.

Hermione looked at the top of the depression, away from the Black Legion and the immobile Snape.

And what she saw astounded her. It was as if she was watching the patch of sky around the eastern edge of the depression through a solid wall of water. The background rippled and flashed just as if she was watching the night sky with a wall of water rushing through the gap in between. The wall of water moved. Through the fumes that were spreading throughout the battleground, the wall of water advanced, taking on the colour of its background. The ground rippled as it moved down the depression, as if some giant hand was moving a huge magnifying glass over the debris.

And then it struck her. _Disillusionment charms._

She remembered a certain passage from her History of Magic lessons with Professor Binns.

_During the course of the last battle with the Allied Ministries, Grindelwald made use of an ingenious, albeit ultimately useless tactic. He called upon his best-trained followers to disillusion themselves and attack the Allied Ministries' forces located at the base of the hillock upon which Grindelwald was perched. The legion of disillusioned der Anhang (Grindelwald's followers) succeeded in sowing panic amongst the Allied forces. A great slaughter of the Allied forces followed…_

The disillusioned forces had been tremendously successful. The Allied forces had ultimately won solely because of their superior manpower. They had outnumbered Grindelwald's forces ten-to-one, yet they took nearly a month to take over Grindelwald's last stronghold. The disillusioned legion had been extremely effective in the defence of the fortress. Once the legion was dispersed, its highly trained soldiers always sought to move amongst the enemy legions, cursing many and sowing panic amongst them. The soldiers of the legion were trained to move extremely fast and were all powerful wizards and witches.

And today, Voldemort had brought the Disillusioned Legion back to life.

* * *

The Legion advanced like an army of chameleon wraiths. "Do not let them disperse!" Scrimgeour cried over the din, "Surround them before they infest our ranks!"

Minerva McGonagall rushed forward, blasting three Death Eaters out of her path. She fired a curse at the Disillusioned legion. The giant watery wall divided itself, and the jet of light passed through undeflected. This was no ordinary legion of Death Eaters. This was what Voldemort had been doing in those Death Eater training camps for seventeen months. The legion was comprised solely of extremely well-trained wizards. There was a burst of fire from several Aurors a few feet away from Minerva. The flanks closed in towards the middle, and the fires were deflected.

"Disperse!" a female voice shrieked over the sounds of battle and the crackling of fires.

Minerva gasped. Scrimgeour's face took on a deathly pallor. It was all over. They were about to be massacred. The Aurors tried to arrange themselves in a more compact formation, but the Disillusioned Legion dispersed and infested their ranks. Jets of light suddenly emanated from several spots, from Disillusioned wands. Minerva threw herself down and fired a spell blindly into the darkness. There was no accompanying thump. The spell had missed.

_Panic. Thorough, widespread panic._ Sudden spells from almost invisible wands. The Aurors tried desperately to hem the tide of disillusioned Death Eaters, but none of their spells hit the mark.

_Friendly fire_. The Aurors were hitting themselves with offensive spells. The Disillusioned Legion had accomplished its purpose.

_Fire and move_. That was how the disillusioned Death Eaters had been trained. And now, at last, they had been employed to devastating effect.

Hermione shivered uncontrollably, fear taking over her body and compressing her muscles until they quaked with suppressed tension. Snape turned towards her, his beetle-black eyes glinting with malicious intent. He raised his wand. Hermione closed her eyes, cringing involuntarily, preparing herself for the final blow.

"Avada…" Snape snarled, thrusting his wand into the air.

Suddenly a whip of fire lashed out of nowhere and coiled itself around Snape's waist. Hermione jerked her head around. The whip of fire crackled as Snape rose into the air, shrieking with pain, the whip burning his robes. For one awe-inspiring moment, frozen in time, all Hermione saw was Snape poised in mid-air… his mouth wide open… his face twisted in a grotesque expression of pain and surprise… the piercing scream… and the whip of fire, taut and stretched by an invisible hand.

And then the whip of fire uncoiled with a crack, unleashing Snape nearly twenty feet into the air, until he landed with a painful thud on the ground.

Through the hazy curtain of smoke veiling the Gringotts building, Hermione clearly saw the outline of a wizard. A Disillusioned Wizard. _Why had he attacked Snape? Was he one of the Aurors? Or was he just a Death Eater overcome by envy? _

For one wild, fleeting moment, an absurd thought arose in the panicked depths of her mind, despite reason striving to overcome hope – _Dumbledore…_

The smoky outline of the wizard blurred as he collapsed to the ground. Hermione tapped her head with her wand, which had been lying on the ground ten feet away. Cold trickles of colourless magic wove themselves down her body. She crept forward, furiously straining her eyes, and following the disillusioned figure as it crept along the ground.

She was forced to stun a Death Eater who nearly got her with a Killing Curse. Dodging spells and carefully crawling over dead bodies she kept her gaze fixed on the disillusioned figure ahead as she shadowed it. Suddenly, it stopped. Hermione looked at her surroundings. With a shuddering gasp she realised where she was.

She was at the front-line of the Auror Legions. She was in the very thick of the war. The cries of war, the shrieks and agonised cries, suddenly seemed to pierce her ears and she grew nauseous. The Black Legion was in front of her – a massive, compact unit of Death Eaters – refusing to give way to the entrance of Gringotts. The Aurors at the forefront were firing spells indiscriminately at the Death Eaters. All curses were lethal here. There was no time to churn up an Unforgivable Curse here. The quicker you fire, the longer you live. That was the underlying principle in a Wizarding War. And now, she was in the middle of a full-fledged Wizarding War. And her side was losing.

Suddenly, the glassy outline of the Disillusioned figure rose, as if emerging from the very bowels of the earth.

_An earthshaking boom. Thunder and lightning._

Wave upon wave of magic washed over Hermione, as she gazed at the Disillusioned figure. Rich, powerful notes of magical prowess bathed her. But the real magic was not directed at the Auror Divisions. They were directed at the Black Legion.

Cracks appeared everywhere along the ground upon which the Black Legion was advancing. Powerful bursts of wind swept the front lines aside. The compact formation of the Black Legion broke. Their lines were pierced. The Disillusioned figure had done what the Aurors could not. The first wave of the Black Legion scattered.

"Attack!" the hawk-like screech of Minerva McGonagall broke over the din of battle. The Aurors attacked. The Black Legion was infested at last. Their ranks pierced, the Legion slowly retreated.

_Move and counter-move._ The Disillusioned Legion had pierced their ranks, and now they had pierced the ranks of the Black Legion.

But the battle was not yet on an even footing. The Aurors were wedged between the Disillusioned Legion and the Black Legion. Yet they had a chance of an honourable retreat, instead of a full-fledged massacre. And there was always the powerful, unknown factor – Lord Voldemort, who stood at the Gates of Gringotts like a demon escaped from the confines of hell, gazing upon the battle impassively, surveying it like a celestial being, tall and snakelike, his red eyes glowing.

Hermione still followed the Disillusioned figure, not even daring to hope. _Who was he? _Once again, the absurd thought arose in her mind – _Dumbledore…_

The Disillusioned figure indiscriminately fired spells at the Death Eaters in its path, sweeping the way with ease and advancing in unusual lightning-quick bursts of speed. Hermione followed the figure closely. She remembered sweeping the snow away on the Hogwarts grounds to carve a path for the Golden Trio to Hagrid's hut, with Harry and Ron trailing behind her. And now, someone was doing the same thing for her... sweeping away the Death Eaters.

The Legion thinned suddenly. The disillusioned figure had cut a way through the entire Legion. Hermione was not the only one who had followed it. The Aurors too had advanced behind her, cutting through the Legion like an icebreaker gone berserk.

And now, they stood at the gates of Gringotts. And before her, stood a pale, snakelike figure with red eyes, she had only seen in her worst nightmares.

Lord Voldemort stood in front of the Disillusioned figure.

And the Dark Lord spoke, every high-pitched syllable audible even over the din of the battle that raged behind them. "At least", he said, every word trembling with a wild amusement that made the hair on Hermione's neck stand on end, "Introduce yourself before you duel me."

The Disillusioned figure raised its hand. Steady rivers of colour seemed to flow over it, as the glassy figure took solid shape. A wizard stood before the Dark Lord. A wizard with green eyes and messy black hair.

Hermione gasped. _Harry Potter._

Voldemort sneered. "Without your glasses, Harry? Those delicate eyes might get strained."

Harry's mouth opened in a wild grin. "I would rather look upon your ugly face without them, Tom. At least this way, your face is blurred."

The red eyes flashed, and a different wave of magic washed over Hermione. It reeked of evil and putrefaction. Hermione backed into a shadowy corner of the entrance. _When had Harry become so powerful?_

She saw Voldemort and Harry, standing like demons amidst a scene of chaos and war, against the backdrop of the collapsed debris and fires raging around the battlefield. _The Presiding Deities of war._

Voldemort sneered. "I admire the courage with which you face death, Harry," he said, every word dripping with horrifying sarcasm.

"Why don't you put your words where the action is, Tom?" Harry countered.

The red eyes flashed again. Harry fired off three stunners in quick succession. Voldemort flicked them aside with ease. Hermione's heart sank. _Get out of it, Harry!_

"Is that all you have in your locker, Potter?" Voldemort taunted.

"Stupefy!" Harry yelled again. But this time, the accompanying red jet never came. Hermione's hair rippled as the spell gushed past her. Voldemort's eyes widened in shock as he conjured a silver shield that blocked the spell with a reverberating clang. _Harry had feinted. Non-verbal spells._

Harry conjured up the whip of fire again. Voldemort flicked his wand and the whip dissolved into smoke. Voldemort fired a green jet at Harry. Harry ducked as the spell hit the walls of Gringotts, cracking the marble tiles.

Hermione had never witnessed a duel of this calibre before. These were the two most powerful wizards she knew. The very air around them crackled with magic and tension. The spells were immense drawing upon every fibre of their magical core. Their wands were a blur and sparkled like swords as the two wizards sparred like demons of war.

Harry dodged another green jet from Voldemort's wand and raised his own wand. An immense, blinding white arc of light emanated from his wand. It passed through all the pillars supporting the walls of Gringotts and vanished just before it made contact with Voldemort's shining silver shield. For one heart-stopping moment, Hermione thought the spell had accomplished nothing. Voldemort, evidently, thought so and his lips parted in a triumphant sneer.

But then, the pillars holding up the arch of Gringotts suddenly crumbled as if ground to dust by a giant, powerful and invisible hammer. The arch collapsed, and Harry leapt aside deftly. Voldemort looked up in shock and raised his wand. The entire arch stopped in mid-air and burst into a thousand pieces, which fell to the ground harmlessly. Voldemort pointed his wand at one of the marble pillars, which had not yet crumbled. The pillar began to writhe like a snake.

Harry and Voldemort exchanged a few fast and furious spells. The pillar meanwhile had morphed into a giant, marble snake, which turned to face Harry, its body sliding over the ground noisily. Harry opened fire with the same white arc, which promptly ground the snake to dust. Hermione couldn't believe her eyes. Harry had finally grown up to his expectations.

However, Voldemort responded to the destruction of his snake with a furious tirade of devastating Dark Magic. Harry was pushed on the defensive. He desperately retreated, trying to gain the upper hand again. But Voldemort had an essential ingredient for success Harry did not possess - _experience_.

Voldemort's red eyes flashed in her direction as he turned to avoid the white arc of light Harry sent at him in desperation. His eyes widened. The wand, which was pointed at Harry, turned, suddenly directing the dreaded green jet of light at her.

Time seemed to freeze at that moment. She was reminded irresistibly of the scenes at the Ministry of Magic. The green jet of light whooshed towards her, even as her wand hung limply by her side. She distinctly heard a swear escape Harry's lips.

_She had forgotten to keep the Disillusionment Charm on in the excitement of battle._

Suddenly, she felt as if her side was splitting open.

_But the Killing Curse was supposed to be painless._

She looked up again. Her head was reeling and she was lying on her side.

Her heart sank at the sight. Harry was lying on the ground, a few feet away from Voldemort, panting heavily. A moan escaped her mouth. And then she understood. Harry had blasted her out of the way. And in that crucial moment when his attention was directed towards saving her, Voldemort had hit Harry with a devastating curse. Harry had lost.

* * *

Voldemort advanced towards Harry, his eyes flashing maliciously and his long spider-like fingers coiling around his wand. Harry was bleeding from nearly a dozen spots across his stomach. The spell had just missed his heart, which beat painfully against his ribs. Harry clutched his wand, although his brain seemed to be jammed. Random thoughts swerved through his brain as he dimly registered the fact that Voldemort would kill him.

And then, as if by a miracle, his brain was cleared of all thoughts for a fleeting moment. He tightened his fingers clutching his wand. He had a final burst of magic left within him. Voldemort was only a few steps away. He concentrated on his wand and let loose a final, enormous burst of magic. He felt the Anti-Disapparition barriers around Gringotts collapse. And simultaneously, Diagon Alley faded as he reappeared outside Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

He looked at the place blankly. It dimly struck him that the Order Headquarters wasn't there. _There is a new Secret Keeper. _He was worn out with fatigue. He needed help, and this was the only place he could think of.

"Harry?"

Harry whirled around and found himself face to face with Horace Slughorn.

"Sh…Shouldn't you b…be at the battle?" Harry asked, slurring his words.

And then as his tired eyes travelled over Slughorn's robes, his eyes widened. Slughorn wasn't wearing the standard Order combat robes. He was wearing black robes. Slughorn pointed his wand at Harry. In his left hand, was an eerie white mask.

The Order had a traitor within their ranks.

And Horace Slughorn was that traitor.

"I'm sorry about this, Harry…" Slughorn sighed, as he pointed his wand at Harry, "Petrificius Totalus!"

* * *

_A/N: Another cliffy. I seem to be fond of them._


	5. Chain Reaction

_A/N: I own nothing. The words in italics refer to character thoughts or memories._

* * *

**_Chain Reaction _**

Adrenaline… pure, uninhibited adrenaline flowed through Harry preparing him for one final surge. He blocked the spell, and staggered towards Slughorn. Slughorn raised his wand again, but Harry was too quick for him. The Body-Bind curse caught him in the middle, and the former Potions Master crumpled. Harry quickly knelt beside Slughorn. _He had no time to lose. _

_A plan. He needed a plan._

And a plan began to churn itself to completion in his befuddled mind.

He fumbled amidst Slughorn's robes. And he found a set of flasks in the right pocket – several flasks carrying the most important potions. He toyed with a flask containing a murky, brown liquid as his brain tried to register what was happening. The world was dark in Grimmauld Place. All the street lamps were exhausted. The Order Headquarters was nowhere to be seen.

He looked at the flask in his hand, and its murky brown contents, and then it struck him. _Polyjuice Potion._

He shook his head. The plan was still slowly forming in the tired depths of his brain. He could not afford to collapse, not just yet.

And he had a plan.

_Only the craziest person on earth would carry out that plan._

_But did he have a choice?_

Harry conjured a glass which hung suspended in mid-air. He scooped some of the potion into the flask. He plucked out a single hair from his head and put it in the glass. The liquid sizzled and turned an emerald green. He plucked out another strand of hair from Slughorn's immobile moustache and put it into the remaining potion within the flask. If he had calculated rightly, the potion would be enough for an hour. _But would the Potion last, even after death comes with all its obliterating ability? _

The liquid within the flask turned a chestnut colour. Harry gulped down his potion, while the glass tilted itself and poured the liquid down the paralysed Slughorn's throat. Their bodies began to convulse and change shape. Harry's belly grew until it reached enormous proportions and his scalp became devoid of all hair. Hair bristled over his mouth until a walrus moustache quivered beneath his nose.

And he looked at Slughorn lying on the ground. Harry Potter looked upon his own paralysed body, its eyes aquiver with fear.

Harry smiled and pulled back Slughorn's left sleeve. The Dark Mark was still visible.

"Not fooled by Polyjuice Potion, is it Slughorn?" he snarled.

Harry raised his wand. And with brutal force, he brought it down with a cutting motion. Slughorn's eyes glazed over with pain as his left hand was chopped off savagely.

"Spying on the Order for Voldemort, weren't we, Slughorn?" Harry asked, his voice full of deep sarcasm, "Never thought you'd sink so low."

Harry spat on the ground, as the severed left arm, bearing the Dark mark fell to the ground.

"No! Harry!"

For the second time that day, Harry was startled by the sound of a familiar voice. He whirled around, lashing his wand through the air instinctively, unleashing the Body-bind curse again. He heard a thud approximately ten feet away. He squinted but saw nothing in the semi-darkness. The person must have been wearing an invisibility cloak. Harry inched forwards, his hands groping along the ground for an invisibility cloak.

Suddenly Slughorn's severed left arm started glowing.

Harry turned and cursed. The Dark Lord had summoned Horace Slughorn, probably to Diagon Alley. Not going immediately would mean certain suspicion. He had to go now. _But who could the second person that had startled him have been?_

_The voice… it was familiar._

_But he had no choice. _

He caught Slughorn's arm and disapparated back to Diagon Alley.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall knew the war was lost. The Disillusioned Legion was now roaming amongst their legions freely, killing at will. The Black Legion, heartened by Harry Potter's disappearance, had reformed. The war was lost. Yet Harry had let loose one final tendril of magic before his abrupt disappearance. She had sensed that final, powerful blast of magic.

She slowly reached out with her Legilimency, probing the farthest corners of Diagon Alley for trace of the Anti-Apparition barriers, but there was no sign of them. She was correct in her hypothesis. Harry had disabled the Anti-Apparition barriers with that final burst of awesome magic.

She pointed her wand at her throat. "Retreat!" she shouted over the din of battle, "Retreat to the Ministry!"

The wizards around her began to disapparate. The call to retreat was repeated across the battlefield.

With one final, fleeting look at the battlefield, Minerva McGonagall disapparated.

* * *

Ginny Weasley looked out of the window in Grimmauld Place. The unnatural mist, which had previously enveloped the whole of England in its ill-timed darkness, was now gone. It was a clear night, but none of the street lamps were alight, shrouding the whole of Grimmauld Place in semi-darkness. The only light came from the moon.

It had been nearly two hours since the members of the Order had departed. Within her, Ginny felt rage, frustration and utter impotence – all extremely familiar feelings – at once. It was stifling within the house. The air was clear, but her mind and its raging emotions stifled her.

_Was Harry fighting in the battle at Diagon Alley?_

Luna was sleeping in a room upstairs. Ginny marvelled at her indifference.

All of her loved ones, her boyfriend, and her friends… all of them were fighting in some hellhole in Diagon Alley. And Luna was sleeping. It amused her in a dark way.

She needed to get out. Get out of this house. The loneliness and her utter lack of sleep left her restless. She needed a breath of fresh air. She pulled on the Invisibility Cloak, which Moody had lent them for the night. "_If they invade this place_," Moody had said to the amusement of the Order members present, "_You could use this. It would help mightily in your escape plan._"

However, entrusting Ginny Weasley with such a cloak, was not the wisest thing to do. Disregarding the rules her mother had laid out for her, she left the safety of the Headquarters and stepped into the surprisingly warm night. Her alert eyes immediately spotted some activity near the opposite side of the street.

She slowly moved across the street to the opposite footpath, clutching the Invisibility Cloak. And she heard savage muttering.

She knew that voice.

_Slughorn._

She moved closer, her heart thumping madly. The clouds parted and the moon bathed the scene with its faint light. What she saw nearly took her breath away.

Harry was lying on the ground, his eyes glazed over, and his left arm was chopped off. All that remained was a bloody stump.

And towering over Harry, with a savage expression on his face, was Horace Slughorn.

A scream escaped Ginny's trembling lips.

"No! Harry!"

Slughorn whirled around with unexpected speed, his bulk spinning effortlessly as he cast a wordless spell. And it struck her right in the middle. She lay heavily on her side. She tried to move her arms, but she couldn't. The Full Body-Bind.

Questions buzzed through her overworked brain.

Had Slughorn mutilated Harry's arm? 

_But why would he do that?_

_Wasn't he a member of the Order?_

Slughorn moved towards her, his arms reaching out into thin air. The Invisibility Cloak was still draped over her.

Slughorn was just feet away from her. She waited with bated breath for the inevitable end, but something lying at the paralysed Harry's feet, glowed. Slughorn cursed. He paused for a while, apparently thinking furiously.

_Make him leave, make him leave…_

Slughorn went over to Harry, clutched his arm and disapparated, leaving Ginny lying on the pavement in the utter darkness of Grimmauld Place.

* * *

"Where is Horace?" Remus Lupin whispered to Minerva, looking around the table with a raised eyebrow.

Minerva shrugged. There was no time to mourn their losses now. The Death Eaters could mount an attack upon the Ministry any time soon. The Ministry Officials and the members of the Order were hustling about the Ministry appropriating positions to the various Auror Divisions, and fortifying the Ministry.

However Minerva, Lupin, Moody, Scrimgeour, Umbridge, Fudge and Dawlish were gathered around the roughly hewn wooden table in the Minister's secret enclosure within the Ministry.

Minerva wrinkled her nose in distaste at Umbridge – Under-secretary to the Minister. She had stayed behind in the Ministry during the siege upon Diagon Alley.

"Potter… _Potter… _at Diagon Alley?" Umbridge asked, her wide, round eyes widening in shock and disgust.

Cornelius Fudge gave an involuntary shudder. "Despite the fact that there is no love lost between myself and Potter, Dolores, I shudder to think what would have happened if he had not appeared at the time he did."

Scrimgeour nodded slowly.

McGonagall slammed her fist down on the table, and narrowed her eyes at Umbridge. "The truth is there for all to see – if Potter hadn't arrived, we would have been massacred, Dolores, and the Ministry would have been in the wrong hands!"

Umbridge shrank against the back of her chair, alarmed at this sudden outburst from the former Transfiguration Mistress.

Moody leaned forward, his face more scarred than ever. "Potter surprised me. It wasn't his skill," Moody muttered (and Umbridge sniggered at this point), "It was the sheer power. Did any of you notice the white arc of light he sent at the Dark Lord? It cut through the goblin-wrought pillars with all their protective charms like knife through butter. It was sheer power there."

Umbridge cleared her throat pointedly.

Minerva opened her mouth furiously, but Scrimgeour forestalled her. "Yes, yes," he said, waving his hand casually, "We are all thankful to Potter for his timely intervention, but Potter is not our priority. Our priority right now is to determine how we will safeguard the Ministry."

Lupin let out a barking laugh. Minerva turned to face the mild-mannered werewolf with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, the Death Eaters won't attack us now," Lupin said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Despite their crushing victory at Diagon Alley, they won't attack us now. They'll merely devote their time to fortifying Diagon Alley. On the contrary, Minister, our priority, is to determine where we should make our last stand."

The Ministry members present at the table gasped. Umbridge, who had refused to look at Lupin to this point, now glared at him. Fudge and Dawlish stared at Lupin incredulously. "My dear man," Fudge stammered, his face purpling, "It's just impossible, don't you see? Last stand? Don't you think those words are a bit… _extreme_?"

"On the contrary, Minister," Minerva said in the gravest tone she could muster, "Remus is absolutely right. This is no insurrectionist organisation that we can root out easily. This is a full-fledged civil war.

"By Merlin's beard, Minister, they took over Diagon Alley!" Minerva said indignantly, "Diagon Alley! Our most treasured landmark! We were outclassed! Do you truly think we could divide our forces and hold out against them?"

"She's right, Minister," Moody muttered, "It is time for us to gather our forces and make our last stand at the best possible place. They pushed us onto our knees at Diagon Alley. It's time to go on the defensive, Minister."

"You are all mad!" Umbridge exclaimed, her girlish voice rising in pitch, "Mad…"

Scrimgeour held up a hand to stall Umridge's rant. "Enough", he said, "You were not there at the battle, Dolores. You don't know how badly we were outclassed.

"You-Know-Who hasn't attacked the Ministry yet," Scrimgeour continued, "I don't think he will attack it now. He's still gathering his forces. The Magical Creatures and werewolves are yet to be gathered. Once he has all his forces together… judging by Diagon Alley, we will be massacred."

Fudge nodded reluctantly. Dawlish merely gaped at the Minister.

Scrimgeour looked into Minerva's cold eyes, and sighed. "The Order is right," he said to outraged gasps from Umbridge, "We are truly on our knees now. It is time to gather all our forces and make a desperate last stand. The only question is – where."

"Hogwarts," Lupin said without batting an eye, ignoring Umbridge's outraged glare.

"Hogwarts?" Fudge asked incredulously, slamming his hands down on the table, "It's a school, for Pete's sake!"

"I cannot believe we are discussing… _last stands… _here. The Ministry will root out these… _rebels_…" Umbridge argued hotly.

"Enough," said Scrimgeour again, looking at Umbridge with a cold stare, "If you refuse to accept ground realities, Dolores, I suggest you get out of this room. This is no longer about keeping up appearances. This is no longer about votes. It's about defending what we have from a superior force."

Umbridge spluttered, her face beet-red, and ultimately quietened down, still shaking her head incredulously at the course of action being discussed at the table.

"But I agree with Fudge," said Scrimgeour, ignoring Umbridge's histrionics, "Why Hogwarts? The Ministry's equipped with the latest security barriers. We could withstand a siege."

Minerva shook her head. "Hogwarts is not merely a school, Minister. It is the most ancient of magical fortresses."

"Yes, Minister," Moody muttered, "Hogwarts, being more spacious than the Ministry, will be able to support more men, and hold all the food supplies we require to withstand a siege. The spells around it, have been devised by some of the greatest witches and wizards of the age… we haven't even unravelled half of its mysteries yet, Minister."

"You mean we should make our last stand at a school?" asked Fudge, seemingly unable to digest the suggestion yet.

Minerva pursed her lips and nodded.

Fudge gaped at Scrimgeour. "Minister?" asked Dawlish.

"I will not make the mistake of not listening to the Order, again. The Ministry was not built to withstand a siege. Hogwarts, on the other hand, is. We will make our last stand at Hogwarts."

Minerva's pursed lips curved upwards to form a slight smile.

Then the doors to the room banged open. Kingsley Shacklebolt staggered inside. "Kingsley?" Minerva asked the Auror tentatively.

"Luna Lovegood just apparated into the Ministry with Ginny Weasley," he said in a hurried tone, "Ginny was found lying on the pavement outside Grimmauld Place under a Body-Bind. She… she saw Slughorn…"

"Whatever it is, spit it out, Shacklebolt," growled Moody.

"Slughorn… he was the traitor who betrayed our plans to Voldemort," stammered Kingsley.

Minerva could not believe her ears. There was a deathly silence at the table.

"Slughorn?" she repeated, unable to believe her own ears. Slughorn – her colleague, the Potions Master at Hogwarts – had betrayed them.

"Ginny saw Slughorn… Slughorn… he cut out Harry's arm," Kingsley muttered.

Lupin stood up abruptly. His face assumed a deathly pallor. "No!" he exclaimed, his eyes bulging ominously, "Where… where is Harry?"

"We don't know," Kingsley said, "Slughorn apparated with Harry. Ginny and the Lovegood girl think Harry tried to apparate to Grimmauld Place… but Slughorn met him outside Headquarters, overpowered him, and apparated…"

"Slughorn disapparated?" Moody growled, his scars more visible than ever, "If he is the traitor… if he is a Death Eater, he must have apparated to…"

"The Dark Lord," Minerva completed, the words catching in her throat.

"No!" Lupin exclaimed, and staggered outside the door. Kingsley and Moody followed him.

Minerva turned to the Minister, her face deathly white. "Looks like Slughorn took our saviour away. He… Slughorn… will pay for this… with his life," she muttered, her voice shaking with rage and anxiety.

She turned with a swish of her robes and disappeared into the darkness outside the room, leaving four extremely stupefied Ministry members behind.

* * *

Harry felt strange, standing before the leering face of the Dark Lord in such a submissive manner. For the moment, he was Horace Slughorn, holding the body of Harry Potter in his podgy arms.

He stood in a derelict, half-burnt mansion in Diagon Alley, now in the hands of Death Eaters. Around twenty Death Eaters stood around the Dark Lord like ants surrounding their precious anthill. Harry gathered that Horace Slughorn had been asked to stand guard outside the Order Headquarters, as soon as battle had been joined at Diagon Alley.

"Well done, Horace," Voldemort said in a sick, mocking tone bringing his spidery hands together as if applauding softly, "Well done."

His red eyes now lowered until they were level with the fearful green eyes of the boy kneeling down before him, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm. "You see, Harry," Voldemort said, his tone rising in pitch, "I knew you would try to escape… you always have, Harry. I knew where you would flee - that hidey-hole of yours under the Fidelus. The Dark Lord knows, Harry. He always does."

Harry saw himself, as he never had before. He saw Horace Slughorn, polyjuiced to resemble Harry, crawl backwards fearfully, shaking his head, and opening his mouth as if wanting to protest. The only light in the mansion came from the fires raging in Diagon Alley. The Silencing Charm was all too noticeable. Voldemort looked at Harry questioningly, his red eyes flashing.

"Why have you silenced him?" the Dark Lord asked.

"He was extremely abusive, Master. I found it right to silence his cheeky little tongue," Harry said, bowing.

The Death Eaters laughed; Bellatrix Lestrange's cackling laughter rose in pitch above the rest.

Horace Slughorn backed towards the corner of the building they were camped in at Diagon Alley, and lay there shivering.

"I see. The boy _is_ quite popular for his extremely cheeky demeanour," Voldemort said, his voice quivering with amusement, "Yet now, he does not seem, inclined to resume his cheeky behaviour."

The Dark Lord sighed. "Too long have you been a thorn in my side Potter. Now, finally this war has come to an end. I wish the Prophecy had given me a better rival, Potter, but alas! This is how things are, and this is where it all ends – not for me, Potter, but for you. _Avada Kedavra._"

_The same green flash. The same onrushing sense of death._

Harry watched in horror, as Slughorn's eyes widened, flashed and dimmed. It had come too suddenly. Harry Potter was now dead to the world.

The Potion had held. The Polyjuice Potion had held even after Slughorn's death.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. The Potion had worked. He now had only half an hour to get away, before Voldemort realised the switch.

He cleared his throat loudly. Lord Voldemort's luminous red eyes turned towards him. "Yes, Horace?"

"Master," Harry muttered in Horace Slughorn's oily, flattering voice, "If I return Potter's body to the Order, I might be able to retain my place as a spy within the Order. I might even be trusted and rewarded for… _rescuing…_ the great Potter's body from the clutches of the big, bad Death Eaters."

Harry was now desperate. _Twenty-five minutes remaining. _

His sarcastic emphasis paid off. The Death Eaters sniggered. Lord Voldemort's red snake-like eyes danced with sickly mirth. Harry felt his blood boil.

"Yes, you may," the Dark Lord said, waving his hand carelessly, "The boy means nothing to me now.

"But to those of you who doubted me," Voldemort continued, his voice rising in pitch, "Look! Look at the so-called Chosen One. Believe in me and you shall triumph, my brethren! Believe me not, and this is what shall come to you." Voldemort indicated Harry's body.

"Take him away, Horace."

"Yes Master," Harry said, kneeling before the Dark Lord and kissing the hem of his robe, as Death Eater protocol demanded.

Harry clutched his own corpse, and disapparated back to Grimmauld Place, still unable to believe he had pulled of his crazy plan without a single hitch.

Harry disapparated to Grimmauld Place. The Order Headquarters was not yet visible. Harry intended to enter it and reveal all to the Order. How he wasn't Horace Slughorn and how Slughorn had been a spy. Everything. He had to tell them everything – the Horcruxes, how they were now destroyed and how vulnerable Voldemort was at the moment. He had to give them all hope in the midst of despair, which now plagued the whole of Britain.

He invoked an ancient spell so as to bypass the Fidelus. He was, after all, the owner of the house. The house could never be hidden from him. The Fidelus Charm had its own limitations. A golden glow bathed him for a moment, and the house revealed itself.

_Number Twelve Grimmauld Place._

It all came rushing down on him now. His own body was cradled in his arms. The blood, the bleeding stump of Harry's arm. It all came to him with a sense of déjà vu. _Sirius… Dumbledore… murder… assassination…_

It all came back to him now, like the dirty waters of a polluted ocean crashing against a long-forgotten shore. Yet his tutors had taught him to shield his mind from evil. _Most of them had, anyway._

_The others… they had asked his mind to invite evil._

He walked up to the door of the Order Headquarters. The interior appeared to be lit up. He could hear racking sobs emanating through the crack in the doorway. He knocked once. There was a light patter of rain in Grimmauld Place this night – a heavy drizzle. Suddenly the sound of the water drops pattering against the ground was all that was audible. The interior of Number Twelve had suddenly become extremely silent.

The door creaked open. Harry entered headquarters. Gasps shook the entire house. At first, the light blinded Harry. Gradually his pupils contracted, limiting the amount of light filtering through his cornea. The sight that greeted him was astounding.

Nearly a dozen Order members including Moody, McGonagall, Lupin, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna stood before him, pointing their wands straight at him.

Ginny lowered her eyes to the corpse in Harry's hands and gasped. Suddenly, Harry remembered he was still Horace Slughorn, and Harry's body was in his hands.

"It's just me," he muttered in Slughorn's genial voice.

"Indeed, Horace," McGonagall snarled, "It's just you."

Harry was startled by the venom and hidden rage within her sharp voice. He looked at Lupin. His eyes were no longer the soft grey of his favourite Defence Professor. They were now blazing amber. He extended a thread of Legilimency into the room and recoiled. The room stank of suppressed rage.

_They know Slughorn is a spy._

Harry ducked just as Moody's jet of green light came ricocheting towards him. _The Cruciatus._

He fired off a spell immediately. The same silver jinx Dumbledore had used in the Headmaster's Office in his sixth year, Harry remembered with a pang.

The room was enveloped by silver smoke. Harry ducked into the next room, nearly crushing the corpse in his arms. He ran into the next room and the room after next.

The Order could not be reasoned against now. He should have been touched that his apparent death could elicit such a sharp reaction, but he had no time to feel right now. He had to act – fast.

He entered the attic, and sealed the door. He dropped the corpse and slid down to the floor – panting. He could hear footsteps. He cast an Advanced Shield Charm on the door. He could hear the Order members firing spells at the attic door, but to no avail. He could hear Hermione and Ron crying with rage and sorrow. He could imagine Ginny standing with a stunned expression in the Hall.

And his heart exploded with immense pain – he could not yet reveal the fact that he was still alive. Harry Potter must remain dead to the world. It was the only way out of this mess. Suddenly, he felt an immense physical pain. _The Polyjuice Potion was wearing off._

He remembered the mermaid rhyme from his fourth year – as if recollecting a memory from another life.

_An hour's gone – the prospect's black,_

_Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._

A full gut-wrenching thirty seconds later, he was Harry Potter again. Horace Slughorn's corpse lay on the floor. He had to convince them that Slughorn was alive. He had to manipulate their mindset. He had to engineer Slughorn's death – _for the second time._

His heart trembled within his ribs. He had to take the ultimate step. He had to resort now, to the darkest of Dark Arts. There was no way out now. He had half-immersed himself in a swamp of darkness and despair. It was now time to bathe in that same swamp.

Strange words and hisses emanated from Harry's mouth. His wand hand trembled. A red circle appeared around Slughorn's body. The corpse glowed, as if with an inner sheen. Slughorn's body suspended itself in mid-air. Harry felt the air vibrating around him. He kept circling his wand, hissing in Parseltongue and concentrating intensely on the corpse before him.

The spells and blows on the door to the attic resumed. But Harry's Charm held fast.

A single word resounded throughout the attic, issuing forth from Harry's mouth.

_"Inferiasie!"_

The room was filled with an unholy white light. Thunder and lightning crashed through the dark celestial roads of the heavens. Nature itself seemed to rebel against what Harry was trying to do.

Slughorn's corpse stood up. Its eyes seemed to be empty – almost inhuman, devoid of all feeling. Harry blasted a hole in the wall of the attic. The cold breeze ruffled his dark hair, as a section of the unkempt garden outside Number Twelve became visible. There was a space of nearly twenty yards between the section of the garden visible from the attic and the main gate of the house.

"Run," Harry snarled to Slughorn's Inferius.

The Inferius moved as if puppeteered by invisible hands. Its bulk waddled from side to side, as its short legs carried it away from the attic into the patter of rain. Harry's ears attuned themselves to the noise as he crept outside behind the Inferius. He disillusioned himself. The Inferius was already a yard away.

"Look," Harry heard Lupin shout, "He's escaping!"

He heard the footsteps echoing back into the kitchen of Number Twelve. He saw Hermione's head, crowned by its bushy hair, gaping at Slughorn's retreating form.

_Come on. Destroy the body._

But Hermione stood there, immobile and stunned by grief. Harry must destroy the body before McGonagall and the others get to it and realise it's an Inferius. He had never felt so desperate before. The feeling welled up within him, rising within his heart. He extended a thread of strong Legilimency, willing Hermione to destroy the Inferius, before the Order members drew close to it. Just as the Legilimency thread, strengthened by Harry's desperation and his superior magic, touched Hermione's mind, something happened that had never occurred before. Harry felt the strangest sensation, as if he was floating in pure space.

He looked at his hands and gasped. They were no longer his callused, lean and muscular palms. His palm was now soft, almost smooth and podgy. A strand of his hair fell on his shoulder. It was no longer jet-black. It was bushy-brown. He gasped, and then it struck him.

He had unknowingly… unwittingly… _possessed _Hermione.

_Possession._ The Darkest of Dark Arts, one of his tutors had told him, which he was well suited for.

But he had never tried it. He still retained the memory of the episode at the Ministry – the pain of possession – and desisted from inflicting it upon another. Yet, now he was doing what he loathed most. And yet, he felt no pain.

He saw Slughorn's corpse, nearly ten yards away from its pursuers.

He had to destroy it. _Destroy it._

This mantra repeated over and over in his panicked mind.

He extended Hermione's wand. "Solarus Minora!" he muttered, startled by Hermione's voice issuing out of his mouth. _It wasn't his mouth… it was hers._

Nothing happened.

He tried it again. Again, there was no accompanying flash. Lupin had already caught Slughorn with the Body-Bind. Any minute now, they would realise that it was an Inferius.

Then he realised it. He was drawing from Hermione's magical core, to cast the spell. For the first time he fully appreciated the tremendous magical power contained within his own body. For the first time, the extent of his magical prowess was powerfully impressed upon him.

Drawing upon every fibre of magical strength within Hermione, he muttered the words again. There was a flash, and Slughorn's body burst into flames. He heaved a sigh of relief, and disconnected the Legilimency thread. He immediately felt a powerful rushing feeling and found himself, back in his disillusioned body feeling as if he had run a mile.

He looked back at the kitchen window. Hermione's head was not visible. He distinctly heard McGonagall scream in frustration as every last bit of Slughorn's corpse was burnt to ashes.

Harry still had business to attend to. And he had learned a new talent.

But just as Harry turned to disapparate, a photograph on the wall of the kitchen, just above Hermione's bushy head caught his alert eye.

He felt as if he had come all this way for nothing at all.

* * *

Hermione collapsed on the floor of the kitchen, and tried to recollect what had happened. All she remembered was the flash of immense rage and sorrow within her. All she remembered was her feeling what it means to be taken from the man you loved. And then, she remembered nothing. Yet she felt immensely drained – physically and magically. _Had she cast a spell? _

But she did not remember a thing.

She looked around. There was no one in the house. Not a sound, as if the house was an ethereal graveyard. She stared at the open door to the attic, and the gaping hole in its wooden wall, the raindrops pattering down on the damp wooden floor. She looked at the photo just above her head. In the fuzzy photograph, she was standing with Ron, both of them maintaining a set distance from each other. Ron, however, was glaring at his sister. Ginny – the sister concerned – was kissing Dean. Neville had taken the photo inside the kitchen of Grimmauld Place a few months ago. The calendar, plastered on the wall behind them in the photograph, clearly mentioned the date on which it had been taken.

Hermione looked at the space between herself and Ron – the plain gaping space – meant to be filled. And she knew who should have belonged to that space… _Harry_. This should never have happened. Her heart was now filled with inconsolable grief. It was all over.

The door slammed open suddenly. The Order members rushed into the house and gaped at Hermione.

"What… what happened?" she asked, her heart beating wildly against her ribs.

* * *

Hermione sobbed quietly in her room, one sob following the other, like the waves of the sea beating against a troubled shore. Wave upon wave of grief rattled against her mind. And the grief was soon replaced by dread and guilt.

She had killed a man – for the first time in her life.

_But how? And when?_

Hermione had never been able to rest until she had found the answer to a question. But these questions were different.

"The spell you cast, drew upon your emotions and your magical core," McGonagall had said, "it was your immense rage that fuelled the spell. There is no other explanation. The Solarus spell cannot be used by any, but the most powerful. You used a minor variation of the spell to destroy… him. It could have destroyed you. Never, ever, ever use that spell again. You loss of memory was a side-effect of using such a powerful spell unsupervised."

She was an empty shell now. _Incomplete. Unwholesome. Corrupted._

She had lost someone dearer to her than her own life. Nothing remained now, but a gaping hole. Her mind was empty… devoid of all emotion save one – grief. Guilt and dread were mere variations.

Yet, in her heart of hearts, she knew… or rather thought… that it was not her rage that fuelled the Solarus Minor spell. It was love._ Love._ Love of the purest kind.

_Yet, if her love were pure, would she have left Harry to another woman?_

* * *

Ivan – the vampire - stood atop the hill in the Valley of Blood looking at the cave from which the Minotaur had emerged.

_Minotaurs_.

They reminded him of the War against Grindelwald that he had fought with Albus Dumbledore. The war whence he had been bitten. That was his first and last war, as a human, and as a vampire.

Some might call him a coward. Others might think so but not dare to. Albus Dumbledore, however, had belonged to the former category. He had been called a coward to his face.

A tall, pale brother – a vampire of his own clan – appeared before him. Despite the fact that vampires are solitary hunters, they got along quite well. It was just that vampires could be as selfish as humans could, where food is concerned.

"The goblin activity resumes throughout the school grounds," the tall vampire rasped, "It seems certain goblin clans have rebelled and joined the Dark Lord. The Ministry watches over the rest closely. The Aurors too, were seen at the school. They appear to be modifying the school. It resembles a fortress now. Our brothers have gathered information from other quarters as well. The Dark Lord gathers his forces at Diagon Alley. Several wizards, witches, werewolves, dementors… and our brothers as well, have joined his ranks. There are rumours of other Dark Creatures gathering abroad."

"So it comes. The last battle will be fought at the school. How fitting. Poor old Albus. Even in death, his white tomb is in danger of being desecrated," Ivan said, bemused.

"We cannot remain nonchalant now, Ivan," the vampire rasped earnestly, "We cannot follow our actions in the First War. They say Harry Potter is dead. We have to make our stand. Our place is with our brethren. We must stand by the Dark Lord. The stand at the school will not last long. The Aurors and the Order will be massacred along with the goblins. We cannot remain neutral."

"You are wrong, Marcus," Ivan said in is characteristic deep voice, which had truly charmed the _life_ out of several mortals, "Our duty is not with our brethren – it is with Harry."

"But Harry is dead!" Marcus protested.

"Perhaps," Ivan muttered, "but remember that we trained the boy. I do not believe the rumour that some Potions Master overpowered him and took him to the Dark Lord."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Marcus asked, his eyebrow raised.

"How many vampires reside our little Valley?" Ivan asked, waving his hand casually.

"Around sixty-three."

"Then," muttered Ivan under the bemused cold, grey eyes of Marcus, "I suggest we migrate to England… for the time being. We will decide our alliance there."

* * *

Alastor Moody stood face to face with Rufus Scrimgeour, in the Ministry of Magic.

"The war is upon us, Rufus," Moody muttered, "I can feel it."

Scrimgeour sighed. "The operations are complete. Hogwarts is ready for the siege. A few of the goblin factions have allied with us. The others haven't."

"You mean they've joined You-Know-Who."

"Yes, they have. What would you have me do, Alastor?"

"How soon can we move our troops to Hogwarts, Rufus?"

"In three weeks."

"The sooner the better, I say."

"Indeed."

Scrimgeour paused and turned his face towards the desk, a pained expression on his face. "Do you think we'll survive this war, Alastor?" he asked.

Moody gave a short, harsh laugh. "What do you think, Rufus?"

"That we are outmatched. Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter… all those who could truly help us… are dead Alastor."

Moody gave another harsh, barking laugh.

"In the stories, Rufus," Moody muttered, "Isn't it the outmatched side that wins?"

Scrimgeour sighed again. "Perhaps, Alastor, perhaps. But if it all ends at Hogwarts, we take all the fun out of it for You-Know-Who."

"You know, Rufus, we old veterans really should start calling him by his name. Voldemort. It's Voldemort."

Scrimgeour gave a dry smile. "Voldemort," he said.

Moody gave an approving nod. They clasped hands and shook them firmly.

"It is time, Alastor, it is time."

* * *

The tension at Grimmauld Place was immense. If the tension preceding the battle at Diagon Alley was an indicator, Hermione thought, this was going to be ten times worse.

_Hogwarts._

_To think that it should all end at Hogwarts._

_Dear old Hogwarts._

She gave a dry laugh. It was truly ironic. Hogwarts – the place where it all started. The place where the Dark Lord was born, the place where he gathered his first followers and the place where the greatest wizard of their age – Albus Dumbledore – had been murdered.

_The place where she had been with Harry._

There was a pang in her mind, as if her heart was being wrenched away. She looked at the opposite corner. Ron stood hunched against the wall – his face blank, a mask hiding his inner turmoil. Ginny was sobbing. Dean was looking at her miserably. It was inevitable.

Ginny and Dean had broken up just a week after Harry's death. It was inevitable.

_But why then had Ginny gone out with Dean in the first place? As a gesture of revenge for Harry's breaking up with her?_

_Perhaps._

Hermione shook her head. Love had no place in war. She had learned that the hard way. Harry was dead now. Neville and Luna stood a few feet away from Ron, their faces pale. Harry's death had really shaken them.

It was all over. If they ever had a hope, it had been Harry. And even that had been snatched away from them. It was as if the heavens had altered the destiny of their little planet – as if the fates had decided that the rules should be reversed and evil should triumph over good.

Lupin sat on the floor of Grimmauld place is head cradled against Tonks' shoulder. He had still not recovered from the immense grief that had come from Harry's death.

_Come to think of it, so hadn't she._

In her mind's eye, she saw Harry kneeling before Voldemort, his eyes defiant as the unstoppable green jet of light that had taken so many lives in this war, sped towards him. She saw Slughorn's body, burning to the ground as she stood at the kitchen window, her magical core drained out by the power of the spell she had cast.

Tears fell glistening from her moist eyes. She tried in vain to stop them flowing.

The final, hopeless battle was upon them. It was almost over. They were moving to Hogwarts. All the wizards and witches in England who had stood against the Dark Lord throughout the war, including the Ministry staff, were already being housed at Hogwarts. So were several goblins.

Yet what hope did they have against the vast array of magical creatures and Death Eaters that Voldemort commanded? Seen through the veil of grief blotting her sight, Hermione felt the war was a mere formality for Voldemort – one final battle, before he had conquered the whole of England.

It was coming to a close now.

And it would all end at Hogwarts.

* * *

_A/N: So it comes at last. The great battle. _


	6. The Beginning of the End

_A/N: I own nothing. J.K owns everything. the words in italics are thoughts or memories playing in the minds of the mentioned character._

* * *

_**The Beginning of the End **_

Harry felt as if the world had come crashing down upon him, burying him within the darkest abyss, and leaving nothing around him but empty space. He was imprisoned in the darkest of dreamscapes from which there was no escape. He sat outside the same cave in Hogsmeade where Sirius had lived once.

_Had it been back in his fourth year? _

_Yes._

His mind was so beset with grief that even his past had become tangled, like the overlapping strands of a ball of wool in some old woman's hands. He could not unravel them now.

He laughed hysterically. The world seemed to blur, like some fading nightmare, as tears diffused out through his eyes like water being squeezed out of a sponge.

The photo in Grimmauld Place. The date on the calendar in the background. A year after his "disappearance."

He laughed again and again, his cackle echoing within the confines of the cave. Hogsmeade looked beautiful this night, its houses visible as dark specks in an even darker landscape, like inkblots on a sheet of black parchment.

_Ginny. Kissing._

_Ginny. Kissing. Dean._

He laughed. It was so hilarious.

_Wait for me…_

Hilarious. The world was but an unreal dream; everything looked so hilarious, twisted and unreal through the tears covering his cornea.

_Ginny kissing Dean_.

So hilarious. To think he had expected her to wait for him. _Wait for him._

His laughter echoed around the hills.

And abruptly, the laughter stopped. Harry crouched, a yawning pain in his stomach, a gaping space that could not be filled. And his entire body convulsed as he broke down. Grief – immense, unflattering grief – took over his mind, pressing down upon him like some invisible, magical hand that could penetrate even the deepest confines of his Occlumency-shielded mind.

_Love._

_His greatest strength._

He laughed again. And sobbed. It was all dichotomies. All double standards. Perhaps Harry Potter was not destined to be loved. He had lost every person he had loved.

The all-too-familiar mantra echoed in his mind.

_Mom… Dad… Sirius… Ginny…_

The sobs stopped. And laughter took over again. Perhaps he would laugh and sob away this entire night. Perhaps he would die of this incessant switching of emotions.

_Die._

_Death._

Yes, that was a good option. _Death_.

He had no one to go back to. He had nothing to turn to after this war. He had nothing left. Nothing to lose. Nothing to gain.

The war was futile now. Harry had no one left to care for, in this world. A futile, _futile_ war.

Perhaps he would go to heaven after he died. Perhaps he would at last be reunited with those he loved.

There was another possibility though.

He could go to hell.

He shuddered, and laughed. Yes, he would go to hell.

And he would meet Voldemort.

He laughed. How hilarious!

He would fight the war and die, only to meet Voldemort again in hell. Perhaps, he would be as bitter as Voldemort. Perhaps they could have been buddies. Perhaps.

_Buddies_. How hilarious!

He laughed and sobbed. Tears seeped through his eyes incessantly as he laughed. Laughter, and sadness, mingled together to give rise to a single weird entity. He was mad.

_Mad._

That aggravated his laughter. He was mad. How hilarious!

_Hahaha._

The yawning, gaping hole of grief was encasing him, like a larva within a cocoon. But this cocoon was made of the firmest webs of silk, never to be broken. The larva was meant to die – a freak of nature. Harry Potter was meant to die.

He laughed until he was out of breath. If he had a choice, his wand would already have emitted the familiar green flash of light, sweeping his life away. But he had no choice.

He thought of Iris… his third tutor. One of Dumbledore's oldest friends. A Veela. In Egypt.

And he sobbed again.

* * *

_The plumed serpent appeared all at once, like a ghostly apparition straight from the bowels of an unearthly world, in the dark, damp cave. It was carved out of stone, and its head held two shining eyes, glinting even in the complete darkness._

_"Approach cautiously, Harry," Iris whispered to him, "This might be the entrance to the Horcrux."_

_"Of all my tutors," Harry whispered back, "Why would Dumbledore confide the secret of the Horcruxes in you?"_

_"Because Dumbledore trusts me, Harry; perhaps as much as he does you. Besides, I am perhaps – forgive the lack of modesty – one of the most knowledgeable personalities in the field of Necromancy. Horcruxes – though, are not my area of expertise. Not many have dared to dabble in their secrets. However, Dumbledore and I worked together in a Horcrux Hunt, quite a long time ago. Perhaps that was why he trusted me."_

_Iris flung her blonde hair around. It shone as if with an Inner Light of its own, creating a halo around her beautiful head. She might have been mistaken for an Egyptian goddess._

_Suddenly, Harry registered her last statement. He tore his eyes away from the plumed serpent and whispered to her, "You were in a Horcrux Hunt? With Dumbledore? Who… who created the Horcrux?"_

_Iris held up a hand. "This is not the time to answer those questions."_

_She continued muttering incantations and tapped her wand along the head of the plumed serpent. Nothing happened._

_Harry smirked and hissed in Parseltongue, "Open."_

_The snake moved, and turned like a door handle. The entire section of the cave in front of them appeared to collapse, but Harry knew it was merely a magical illusion, designed to fool the eye. Iris waved her wand and the illusion faded, revealing an entire torch-lit chamber. It was completely rectangular. It had no distinguishing features, except for the torches placed along its wall and a glass case at one of the corners. Harry gasped. At the centre of the chamber stood a golden cup. Even from this distance, Harry could see the dark eyes of an extremely small animal engraved upon the cup. A badger._

_Hufflepuff's Cup. At last._

_Harry was perturbed. He had expected a series of obstacles before they reached the actual Horcrux. Was this an illusion too?_

_"You really need to work on your Occlumency, Harry," Iris sighed. "It's pathetic. No, the cup is not an illusion. It's the Horcrux. However, there is an obstacle before us."_

_She pointed at the glass chamber placed at a corner of the rectangular chamber. It held an unearthly mist._

_"What is it?" Harry asked._

_"The only thing I've seen that resembles that wisp, is a boggart in its true form," Iris said. Harry could detect the undercurrent of tension that seeped through her words. It perturbed him. If Iris was tense, this was dangerous indeed._

_"Which leads me to believe – this is a corporeal boggart," she concluded with finality._

_"A… what?" Harry asked, still puzzled. His heart beat hard within his ribs. His past experiences with boggarts were not exactly worthy of song._

_Iris was still gaping at the glass case, her eyes wide; but if it was with fear or tension, Harry could not tell. Perhaps a mixture of both._

_"Long ago, an Australian Dark Wizard was found with his heart ripped open in a secret chamber in Perth by the Ministry of Magic in Australia," Iris whispered, "Some said he was attacked in sleep by some magical creature. They said the Dark Wizard had a private bodyguard – a bodyguard that could take the shape of any living creature possible. It was a creature of fantasy… of legend. However, certain experts, including myself, researched another possibility. A corporeal boggart. A boggart that could actually turn into what one fears most, physically and magically. Do you follow, Harry?"_

_"But… can't any boggart do that?" Harry whispered back._

_"No. A normal boggart is merely an imitation; it possesses a certain magical power. It cannot exceed that set magical power. If a man fears a chimera or a dragon, for example, a normal boggart can change its body to that of a chimera or a dragon, but it just does not possess the same magical power. Its magical power is far too less compared to a chimera or a dragon."_

_"But this… corporeal boggart… can actually turn into a chimera or a dragon?"_

_"Yes," Iris whispered, her eyes wide._

_"So… why hasn't it attacked us yet?" Harry asked._

_Iris pointed at the ground a few feet ahead of them. Harry noticed a thin golden line traced around the pedestal bearing the Horcux in circular form. He understood. The moment they stepped over the golden line, the glass case would shatter, and the corporeal boggart would be released._

_"So," Harry asked, his green eyes nearly boring into Iris' deep blue, "What do you fear most, Iris?"_

_Iris laughed dryly. "The last war I fought alongside Dumbledore was the War against Grindelwald. However, Grindelwald was not exactly the most powerful of Dark Wizards. I had planned to settle down in England after the War was over. But I'm here now. Why do you think I'm here, Harry?"_

_Harry gazed into those usually serene blue eyes, eyes that could mesmerise any living mortal with their unearthly beauty._

_"I fled," Iris continued, "Because I knew Voldemort was not like Grindelwald. He was far too powerful for a war-shattered Ministry of Magic to contend against. He was too powerful for us. I knew it all along. So I fled here, Harry."_

_Harry was stupefied. "You… You fear Voldemort?" he asked._

_Iris gave a dry laugh again, echoing through the confines of the cave. "Pathetic, aren't I?"_

_Harry looked at the glass case and then, back at Iris. "You mean that boggart will actually turn into another Voldemort?"_

_"Precisely, if I step over the line."_

_"But… but…" Harry tried to protest. Could the boggart possibly be as magically powerful as the real Voldemort?_

_Iris sighed. "Magic, Harry, is an immensely complex concept. Corporeal boggarts draw their magic from the surroundings. This, Harry… the place we stand in, in the Belly of the Sphinx, is arguably the most magically potent place in the whole of Egypt. The boggart will draw its magic from these surroundings._

_"Magic… it's all about magic… its changing, mutating shades and colours. The boggart could be as powerful as Voldemort was in the past or as powerful as he is in the present. It could even create its own version of a futuristic Voldemort – powerfully magical."_

_"You mean the boggart can see into the future?" Harry asked, getting more confused by the minute._

_"Magic… Harry. Unpredictable, beautiful magic," Iris said, almost sensually, caressing her wand with her long fingers, "The magic around this cave is so potent, so powerful… it could possibly detect an undercurrent… a hint of the future. Perhaps, perhaps not."_

_"So, are you going to step over the golden line?" Harry asked._

_Iris sighed again. "No," she said, surprising Harry with her firm tone, "You are not yet ready to face Voldemort."_

_She turned to face him. "What do you fear most, Harry?" she asked._

_Harry thought of the last time he had faced a boggart. "Dementors," he whispered._

_Iris laughed. Harry was startled by her sudden laughter. "That's it? That's all you are afraid of?"_

_Her expression suddenly turned deadly serious. "If that's all you're afraid of Harry, I'd gladly let you step over the line. However, whatever comes out of that glass case might be immensely powerful. Are you sure, Harry?"_

_Harry gulped. He was sure. Or was he? It seemed so long ago; it had been back in his third year. Did he still possess the same fear of the Soul-sucking creatures that invoked his worst memories? Was he still afraid of them? Or were they just a long-vanished childhood fear?_

_His heart beat hard, as he nodded. Iris motioned to him to proceed over the golden line._

_Harry strained his memories again. What was he afraid of? It definitely wasn't Voldemort. He thought of his tenure as a student with Ivan – the vampire. He had realised then that his heart held a peculiar fascination for the darkness. The Darkness – its gaping mouth promising to reveal a host of wonders, devouring him and consuming him at the same time._

_As his feet neared the golden line, his heart beat faster than ever, making it almost painful to breathe. Even his temples vibrated with the enormous amount of blood pulsing through his veins. He knew something was deadly wrong. Wrong – his instinct told him he was wrong. But nothing that came out of the glass case could be worse than Voldemort, could it?_

_He stepped over the golden line. The glass shattered, its swards shimmering in the light of the torches. Harry saw Iris wave her wand out of the corner of his eye; the shards froze in mid-air, fell onto the rough stone floor and shattered. The wisp began to unfurl and writhe, like some spectre straight out of a horrifying fantasy._

_"Never give your enemies a chance to uncoil." Moody's maxim._

_Harry shot off a few spells at the wisp, but the spells passed straight through. Iris was still waiting for the wisp to take form._

_Suddenly, the smoky form disappeared leaving a thin mist in its wake. The mist settled. In front of Harry stood a hooded figure, roughly of his own height, with its back turned to him. He breathed a sigh of relief. It definitely wasn't Voldemort._

_Unexpectedly, the hooded figure had a voice. And it had an arm. It raised its wand._

_"Interesting conversation there," the hooded figure rasped in a deep, alarming tone, "Perhaps you two should turn back now."_

_Harry fired off stunners in quick succession. The hooded figure blocked them effortlessly. Iris sent another powerful spell at the figure, but the spell was deflected. Iris stepped over the golden line._

_A deep sigh floated across the cave. Harry, in a sudden flash of recognition, realised what it was. What it was he most feared._

_The hooded figure turned. Iris raised her wand and stepped in front of Harry._

_"Don't tell me I didn't warn you," the figure hissed._

_Iris raised her wand and fired a second spell. The figure blocked it again._

_No… not him… no…_

_The figure raised its hood. Iris gasped._

_It was Harry._

_Harry feared none other than himself._

* * *

Ginny Weasley gazed out of the window and looked upon the vast expanse of the Hogwarts grounds. The Quidditch field was visible in the distance across the grounds. Hagrid's hut, on the verge of the Forbidden Forest, was alight. Smoke rose from its chimney. It was what would be classified as a normal school day, on the grounds.

But the school itself was altered. The school elves were busy preparing enough food to feed the army that had made the castle their home. The school was filled with the buzz of regular activity. The Aurors moved about, ceaselessly patrolling the grounds. She did not know much about the war preparations, but she could detect the tension in the air. The very atmosphere of the school-turned-fortress tingled with anticipation and tension.

A tear seeped down her cheeks and remained suspended near the edge of her chin, like a glittering stalactite. She wiped it off. She had betrayed Harry.

The one thought that always plagued her. She had never been able to bid him a proper goodbye. She hadn't even been able to kiss him one last time.

She was the worst girlfriend a boy could ever get.

* * *

Hermione Granger sat in the library, her eyes a blur as they sped over each book like a motorboat cutting across the azure blue expanse of a lake. The library was a very pleasant place these days. Several Aurors and other members of their budding army visited the library these days, spending what could possibly be their last minutes, reading something or the other.

Hermione sighed, closed the books and rubbed her tired eyes. Reading, to her, was a portal that transported her to another world – a world full of fantasies and facts, where she was free of the tension and worries that laced her mind these days. When she wasn't reading, she was either sleeping or sobbing quietly.

She hadn't been able to bid goodbye to Harry. She had never told him that she had loved him. And she would never have that chance now.

The war was about to start. Voldemort was ready, or so their spies told them. Although, they said, he would definitely attack at full moon, when his werewolf troops were fully transformed. Hermione shuddered at that thought. It meant Lupin would not fight that night. Lupin will not be able to.

Voldemort must have found a way to curb the werewolves' proneness for blind violence. He must have gained some sort of control over them. There had been rumours of attacks by Death Eaters in Transylvania. They had said the Death Eaters and werewolves attacked them side-by-side. Yet, none of the Death Eaters were injured in any kind of friendly fire. The werewolves never turned upon their own ranks. And the slaughter that followed was devastating. Or so the secret messages from the Transylvanian Ministry had said.

Most of all she missed Harry - his cheerful demeanour even in the face of peril, his charming green eyes, and his firm countenance. She missed him.

She began to sob again.

* * *

Ronald Weasley stood alongside Neville Longbottom in the locker rooms of the Quidditch Pitch. Dean had just left the room to search for Ginny, despite Ron's dire warning. True, he had fumed when Harry had left them in the lurch, and had even encouraged Ginny to have another boyfriend.

Now he realised how childish he had been… how childish he had always been.

Neville laid a hand upon his shoulder. "I miss him too," he said quietly.

Ron nodded and his throat constricted. "I know", Ron said, loosening the knot in his throat.

War is a chess game, at least to Ron. The chess pieces were already in motion. The White was lined up in defence against overwhelming odds. The Black was apparently in motion. He knew what role Voldemort would play. He would be the King of the Black Pieces. He would wait until the war was lost to the Whites, before making his final move.

Ron knew… any chess player had to know… that the queen was the most powerful piece in the War. And their Queen had been Dumbledore. And he was dead. Their King too was dead.

_What, indeed, are we fighting for? The war's already lost. We're lost._

_If we die, we die free. We die free. At least. The war is already lost._

Ron sighed and followed Neville back to the castle.

* * *

If he ever looked into a mirror, he would have been disgusted. His hair looked more unkempt than it ever had in his life. His robes were torn; entire patches of cloth were peeling off. Luckily, he had found a strange pair of abandoned shoes near the dustbin along The Three Broomsticks. Yet, he knew that he looked messier than he ever had. He appeared so frayed and worn, even Remus Lupin would pity him. But he never cared how he looked. Beauty had no meaning for him… not after witnessing so much devastation, torture and mutilation throughout his life. If there was someone he truly hated… hated, not loathed… in life, it was himself.

He did not know when the war was coming, but he could detect movement along the hilly range upon which he was perched.

Yes, he knew the war was coming.

A bat swooped in through the opening of the cave. Bats did not perturb him. They came in and out of the cave at will. Yet, something about this particular bat seemed peculiarly familiar.

The bat disappeared. In its place stood a tall, pale man.

"Ivan," he muttered, "How pleasant. We meet again."

"Indeed, Harry," Ivan rasped, "We meet again. You look horrible, though."

Harry chuckled. "Of course. I'm saving my best robes for the war."

It was Ivan's turn to smirk.

"And how, may I ask, did you find me?" Harry asked, though he thought he already knew the answer.

"Asked the bats for directions," Ivan rasped in an amused tone, "Merlin, I must be getting… batty… in my old age."

Harry laughed dryly. "Your wit is as dry as it ever was, Ivan. Nevertheless, why are you here?"

"I am here with my brethren."

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you never wanted to be involved in this war."

"We cannot choose to remain neutral in this war, Harry. We can only choose our sides."

"That's exactly what I told you in the Valley of Blood, Ivan."

"I know. And we're here, offering our alliance to you."

Harry sighed. "And I thought vampires have no conscience."

Ivan raised a single eyebrow. "And I thought you'd know better than that, after living with vampires for a month and a half."

Harry chuckled again. And nodded to Ivan.

"You look morose. As if this war means nothing to you," Ivan said.

Harry looked at Ivan, the pain in his eyes so intense that Ivan recoiled.

"Nothing. The war truly holds no meaning for me."

* * *

They swarmed over the hills of Hogsmeade like an entire city on the move. Men in white masks and black robes led the army. They were followed by the strangest and darkest of creatures. Creatures that looked as if they had stepped out of the worst of nightmares. Creatures straight from hell.

Tall, cloaked figures glided behind the immense, compact line of Death Eaters, drawing regular rattling breaths. _Dementors_. Behind them, were humans with a most terrifying aspect – amber eyes. _Werewolves_. Following the werewolves, in extremely loose formation were huge creatures with roughly human heads. _Giants and trolls_. Near the rear were extremely pale and fanged creatures, their tongues lolling like the vilest of creatures. _Vampires_. And at the flanks, stood the goblins, their sneering faces visible by the hundreds of torches floating above their heads.

Harry watched the entire spectacle unfold, with a detached air. Most of the vampires alongside him, however, appeared to be shocked. Ivan, however, was unfazed.

"That is quite a sight to behold," he rasped.

Harry smirked. "Indeed," he muttered, "Quite a sight."

Tomorrow night. They would attack at night the next day. The night of the full moon. And they would sweep over Hogwarts.

_Hogwarts_.

The castle stood in the distance, perched atop the hill, light pooling out of its numerous windows generously.

_A diamond in a wasteland._

Harry pointed silently at the centre of the massive army – at least a thousand strong. There was a circle of golden-robed Death Eaters – the royal guard. At the exact centre of the army, walked a tall man, the red gleam of his eyes, visible even from Harry's vantage point. Voldemort.

Dark fur began to sprout all over Harry's body, like some strange, alien variety of funguses. His teeth transformed into long fangs. His eyes enlarged, and parted, until they sat, round and wide on the sides of his broad head. His nose flattened and turned almost snout-like. He sat on all fours. The vampires looked at him, astonished. Without a sound, he melted into the shadow of the hill.

Harry Potter had business to attend to, this night.

* * *

Several emotions swirled in the darkness that enveloped Severus Snape's mind, leaving a turbulent vortex of feelings in their wake. A tortured childhood, a depraved life, and a horrible second life – as a Death Eater – had left him a man incapable of expressing a single joy-associated emotion.

He hated the Dark Lord, for treating him like a disposable slave. He hated Dumbledore for all his false promises of redemption and a better life. He hated Potters – both the senior and junior Potters – for heaping humiliation upon him. He hated himself – for actually believing that there was some hope left for him.

The flap of his tent at the outskirts of the field, in which the Dark Lord was camped, fluttered in the cold breeze. The war would be waged tomorrow.

"You're actually thinking. Now that's a surprise," a deep voice muttered from a dark corner of his tent. Severus' hand flicked to his wand, but he was pinned to the floor by a spell much before he could actually so much as flex his fingers.

Severus could not move. A man's face appeared in his line of sight.

It was Harry Potter.

"It was painfully easy to enter your tent. No wards at all. My, my, Professor, you must be losing your touch," Harry muttered, as he knelt down, facing Severus.

Severus did not lash out, like he intended to. It was true. He had not erected any wards. He wanted to die. That was why he had chosen this tent on the outskirts of the camp. Yet, he hadn't counted on Potter surviving a Killing Curse yet again.

_Was this a dream?_

"I see. You appear to be shocked at my appearance. I survived, Professor. That is all you need to know. Yet, I came here to ask you a question. When did you last duel me, Professor?"

The same smirking tone. The same sarcastic lilt to the word – "_professor_". It was enough to invoke all the terrible memories of Hogwarts. It was enough for him to invoke the same rage and frustration that he had felt in the old days, when he first embraced the Dark Mark. It was enough to make him feel like ripping Potter's tongue out of his mouth.

Yet he was helpless… the same helplessness life had forced upon him since childhood.

"The last time we duelled was in the Valley of Blood in Transylvania."

Severus was now truly startled. _This must be a dream… a nightmare._

"Yes, Professor, the Valley of Blood. We duelled there. I put you in an enchanted sleep. And then I modified your memory."

"Impossible…" Severus spat, "You don't even possess a fraction of the skill required to do that, Potter."

"Ah… you speak at last. Your words are too sweet for my delicate ears, Severus. Nevertheless, I am not here to argue."

Severus looked at Potter defiantly.

"I came here to give you a chance, Severus. Did you know that Dumbledore, after he died, made an iterinary of… tutors… for me? My fifth… tutor… was supposed to be a certain Severus Snape."

Severus listened attentively despite his defiant gaze. _Another false promise from Dumbledore._

"Yes, he told me he had asked you to kill him. The curse, which affected him in my sixth year… the curse from which you temporarily saved him, was slowly eating at him. He was dying. He foresaw his uselessness in the coming war. He wanted me to train with the best of tutors. He told me this in a memory. But I, foolishly, I must admit, did not trust him. Yet I did come to you to train."

Severus strained his memory. _Had Harry come to him? When?_

"Do you remember who your best student was, back in December, Professor? In that extreme Death Eater training camp in Siberia? Yes. Ivan Kelgore. A strange name, so you once said."

It all fell into place now. Ivan's sudden appearance and his abrupt disappearance.

"I was Ivan. Amazing what certain charms can do, is it not? I did not dare come to you as Harry Potter. All it took was some red hair and blue eyes. I could've passed for a Trasylvanian."

Severus' mind reeled. He could not believe he had been fooled quite so easily. A simple glamour charm had fooled him for nearly a month and a half. He did not respond, refusing to allow Potter to goad him.

"However, as I said, I duelled you in the Valley of Blood, and penetrated the deepest confines of your mind. And I was quite surprised… shocked, would be the better word. You had thought I would serve as a link between yourself and the Order, much as you loathed it. And I did not trust you. Leaves a bitter taste in you mouth, doesn't it?"

Severus remained silent. His mind was churning furiously. _What was Potter trying to say?_

"I give you one last chance tomorrow, Severus. One last chance. One last chance to redeem yourself."

Potter's tone was now pleading – an unfamiliar tone.

"Choose the right side Severus. The right side. And you might have a chance to ascend the gates of heaven in peace. Choose wisely, Severus. Would you rather live a slave, or die a free man?"

The magical bonds holding him to the stone floor vanished. Severus stared at his own hands. And then, he looked up. Potter had vanished.

_Had it been a dream?_

The right side, Potter had said. _The right side._

He needed to get out. _Out of this stifling tent._ He needed to think, badly.

It was a hopeless battle for "the right side."

What should he do?

And what _would_ he do?

* * *

It had come. The night of the full moon. The night when the darkness came, enveloping the lone fortress of light with its all-consuming shadow. The shadow rose over the fortress of light in waves, leaving nothing but darkness in its wake.

The gates of Hogwarts shook. Molly Weasley looked out through an opening in the stone wall of the castle.

_Boom!_

The gates shook again. She shuddered. She spared a terrified glance at gates, visible through the Entrance Hall. Her children were all camped on the first floor of the Castle. There was no excuse this time, to deny her children the greatest battle of their lives. They could not run forever. And they needed every witch and wizard they could get. This was it – The beginning of the end.

_Boom_!

Magical vibrations echoed across the castle. They could all feel it. The goblin troops in the Entrance Hall shuddered. They were more sensitive to magical disturbances than wizards. She looked at Arthur, grasping his hand tightly. It might be the last time.

_Boom!_

Tears began to seep out of her eyes. It was a hopeless war. She knew it. They would lose. She should have been hysterical, but the complete hopelessness had given her a sort of grim determination to die before she saw the ascent of the darkness over her home.

_BOOM!_

The gates had collapsed. She knew it. There was no turning back now. They had to fight to the finish. Rufus Scrimgeour standing near the Entrance Hall, turned to face them, McGonagall and Moody flanking him.

Voldemort's army was swarming over the grounds. They could hear screeches and roars outside. Hagrid must have made his move.

"I'm proud to stand alongside you all," Scrimgeour said, his voice firm and steady, "And even if I die today, I tell you, I will remember my death with pride in the seats of heaven. Pride, for I fought alongside the bravest men and women I have ever met in my short life. Pride, at having opposed the shadow… the darkness… despite the overwhelming odds. Pride, at not stooping before the Darkness that a foolish Dark Wizard seeks to impose upon us."

He looked into their pale faces.

"I bid you – Army of the Light – stand and fight! If there is an end, we will make it worthy of song… the stuff of legend. _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_!"

"_Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_!" they all shouted as one, their words echoing off the stone walls of the venerable castle – their last fortress.

The doors to the Entrance Hall splintered. The goblins drew their weapons. The witches and wizards unsheathed their wands.

Molly Weasley gritted her teeth, and charged.

* * *

Hermione tensed, all her muscles preparing for the final plunge. Goblins lined the periphery of the floor.

"_If you ever meet a goblin warrior, stay away, little human_." That's what the goblins had told her.

The doors crashed open. She knew that the Black Legion was flooding the Entrance Hall now. The first wave, of many.

She took a deep breath. The deep breath before the final plunge.

* * *

Ron stood at the top of one of the towers, watching over the battleground with a weird sense of petrifaction. He fired a volley of spells at the army creeping down below over the grounds. They were like medieval archers. The Legion erected a shield, deflecting the less offensive spells. The more offensive and powerful spells got through, but few were mortally injured.

They were directly below the tower now. Ron retreated along with the rest of the wizards and witches on the tower. It was time to join the actual battle raging downstairs.

* * *

Harry maintained a close vigil over the proceedings. Voldemort had not made use of his werewolves yet. Nearly a hundred werewolves were gathered, to be unleashed at the last minute alongside the Dark Lord himself. He had watched in fascination as the Dark Legion made its way across the dreary Hogwarts grounds. The torches were extinguished. The pale light of the moon revealed only a section of the vast army, like a giant Lethifold crawling over the grounds to swallow the castle whole.

Just as the Gates collapsed, Hagrid had struck along with the Hippogriffs and Thestrals, engaging the trolls and giants in hopeless combat. Yet, as the giants and trolls advanced towards the lake, the dementors struck from the flanks, closing in on Hagrid's little army. The surface of the lake bubbled.

Spears jutted out of the water like some weird variety of elongated fish. _Mermaids_.

Harry was now truly surprised by the defences Hogwarts had up its sleeve. Giant tentacles reached out of the water, pulling the some of the trolls and giants underneath. And a horn sounded in the forest - a long, hooting horn, followed by the thudding of several hooves.

_Centaurs_. That attack had truly surprised Harry. He had never expected the centaurs to step in and get involved. Had Voldemort offended them in any manner?

And then came the true surprise of the season. Fluffy and Grawp. The giant three-headed dog and the little giant swooped in, out of the Forbidden Forest upon the entire array of Dark Creatures. They were effectively blocked from the castle. However, the Death Eaters and goblins seeped through Hagrid's forces.

Harry watched in horrid fascination as the great wooden doors of Hogwarts were shattered, just like they were after Dumbledore's demise. The Death Eaters burst in like worker ants into the anthill after a good day's work.

He tensed. The moon waxed and shone as the clouds parted. Long wolf-howls were heard from the end of the grounds. The surprise attack was coming. He watched in fascination again, as Voldemort attacked along with his golden array of personal guards. They seeped through the epic battle raging on the grounds and reached the doors. He saw the tall figure of Voldemort enter the doors.

And then came the werewolves. Biting their way through the hippogriffs, and ripping and tearing, they advanced in a savage line, with no formation at all. Ivan sighed.

Harry signalled to him. Ivan nodded. The vampires advanced. They left their hiding place in the Forbidden Forest.

They silently closed the gap between themselves and the werewolves. They streamed out from behind Hagrid's hut. It was a surprise manoeuvre. The werewolves were caught completely off guard from the sides. The vampires bared their fangs and pounced, transforming into giant wolves themselves, ripping at the werewolves' throats swiftly and quietly.

Harry remained shrouded with the disillusionment charm, killing the werewolves swiftly. One by one, they fell down dead, either under the green jet issuing from Harry's wand, or the bites of the vampires. This was a dreadful battle – The Battle of the Underworld.

Suddenly the largest werewolf of the group leapt at Harry, its snout twitching madly as it scented Harry's odour. Harry stepped aside and the werewolf rolled harmlessly past him. The battle was still raging around the lake, its sounds deafening – the screeches of the hippogriffs and thestrals, the rattling hisses of the Dementors, the loud war-cries of the mermaids as they surfaced periodically, hurling their spears, the roars of the giants and trolls, and the occasional booming barks and growls from Fluffy.

The werewolf turned to face Harry, its eyes glowing red. Harry smirked. He would have recognised those eyes anywhere. He had seen them once at Snape's training camp, but they left a lasting impression. _Fenrir Greyback._

The werewolf circled. Harry smirked again, and brandished his wand. A green flash and the werewolf collapsed.

_Fenrir Greyback was dead. Who cares? That was a stupid way to die._

Harry turned. The werewolf reserves had been annihilated. It was time to penetrate the castle.

* * *

_Light everywhere._

_Violet, Indigo, Blue, Green, yellow, Orange, Red. The colours of the rainbow._

_Yet green was the predominant colour._

Hermione dodged the beams of light, firing blindly into the masses in the Main Hall. This was war at its most chaotic, its most intense.

_Goblin against goblin, wizard against wizard, wizard against goblin._

She cowered in a corner. Blood was spattering everywhere. The Hall was a tangled mess. The war was man-to-man now. The torches illuminated the Hall, in all its mutilated, bloody glory.

A shadow fell upon Hermione. A goblin warrior loomed over her, its pointed teeth bared in a sneer.

"Scared?" It asked savagely.

And it attacked, whirling its sword.

"If you ever meet a goblin warrior, stay away, little human." The goblin's advice.

There was no turning back now. Everything seemed to pause as the goblin attacked. The background, with all its tangled bodies, grappling humans and goblins blurred. All that remained clear was the goblin, its teeth bared, and its feet racing over the floor.

"Stupefy!" Hermione cried.

The goblin held up its shield. The spell was deflected. Hermione followed the Stunning spell with a volley of other spells, but the goblin wrought shield deflected them all.

"Diffindo!" she cried, fuelling all her energy into the spell.

The shield splintered, and the goblin collapsed. Blood trickled down its head. A splinter of the shattered shield had lodged itself firmly in his scalp.

Hermione breathed deeply. The war was only beginning. _Were they losing it?_

She did not know. There was no way she could know. All she saw was the wizards grappling with one another, and the goblins pouncing upon them, their teeth grinding and snapping through flesh and armour alike.

All that mattered now was survival. Hogwarts had become a crowded place.

* * *

Severus stood motionless in the Entrance Hall as the battle raged around him. He stood alongside the Dark Lord, standing tall at the centre of his personal guard, as it cleaved its way through the mess.

"Disperse!" cried the Dark Lord. The golden guard disillusioned themselves. And they plunged into battle, once again sowing confusion and panic amongst the enemy lines.

_Enemy lines? What was he thinking? Who was the enemy?_

He watched in detached horror as Voldemort breezed his way through the Hall, cleaving his way to the stage at the end of the Hall. He stepped upon it, firing spells at will upon those who dared approach his end of the Hall. A few Death Eaters formed a compact wall, shielding the Dark Lord from the enemy.

_Enemy? Who was the enemy?_

_"Would you rather die a slave, or live free?"_

_Bats_. Bats everywhere. Bats swooped in through the openings in the ceiling and pounced upon the Army of the Light, transforming into humanoid creatures in mid-air. _Vampires of the Dark Legion._

_Was Potter really alive? Or had it all been just a nightmare? Or had someone impersonated Potter, just to test his loyalty to the Dark Lord?_

_"Choose the right side."_

He had no conscience. He needed no conscience. If he had one, he would have died of guilt a long time ago.

But Dumbledore's trust had awoken something deep within him.

He made an inhuman sound. He bared his teeth and roared.

Several wizards, even in the heat of their duels, turned to look at him.

He attacked.

He swept the rest of the Death Eaters aside, as he ascended the stage.

Lord Voldemort watched him, surprised.

The hateful red eyes widened in disbelief as Severus fired the Killing Curse at them.

Voldemort disapparated, and appeared behind him, brandishing his wand.

Severus was hurled across the stage. The same stage where Potter and Draco had duelled so long ago.

"Severus?" the Dark Lord asked him, the red eyes wide open, "What do you think you are doing?"

Severus spat at the Dark Lord's feet. And then, he laughed hysterically. "What am I doing?" he asked, "I'm doing the right thing."

Voldemort's thin lips curved upwards in a smirk.

"A conscience attack will not help you here Severus. Come over to the right side."

Severus laughed again. "I am on the right side."

The red eyes flashed in anger and rage. One of their own had betrayed them.

"You disappoint me, Severus," the Dark Lord muttered, "You could have been great. You could have been mighty. Yet, you spoil your potential by joining the losing side."

_Sectumsempra_. Voldemort blocked it effortlessly.

_Avada_… He was hit with immense pain. The Cruciatus. A hundred knives stabbing into his body, wrecking his nerves and jamming all emotions save one - pain.

Voldemort flicked his wand and Severus was flung aside like a rag doll against the wall. The world blacked out.

* * *

The vampires swooped into the Main Hall. Hermione watched in horror as they bit into the necks of wizards and goblins like with inhuman speed and agility. Blood drained out of their necks as they collapsed.

Suddenly a vampire was on top of her, pinning her to the ground. She shoved her wand into the vampire's groin, and blasted him off her.

_Diffindo_. The vampire collapsed.

The temperature in the room suddenly dropped, and a chill crept up her spine. Dark, inhuman magical waves washed over them. Some of the goblins staggered.

A tall man entered the room, wearing robes black as a moonless night. His face was chalk-white and snakelike. His eyes were mere slits, gleaming red in the torchlight. Lord Voldemort.

She watched in horrid fascination as Voldemort advanced across the Hall to the stage sweeping wizards, witches and goblins out of his way like rag dolls. Magic vibrated off him in waves. Hermione could feel the power of each wave of Dark Magic, as he flicked his wand. He ascended the stage at the End of the hall, like a silent demonic lord presiding over the chaos of hell. He flicked his wand at will, destroying some and injuring others.

She kept watching him stunned, as Snape removed his Death Eater mask and duelled his Master in vain. Lord Voldemort was too powerful for them to handle.

She felt all hope drain out of her. There was no hope left now. Lord Voldemort had taken to the battlefield. The Light had lost.

Huge bats swooped in through the ceiling dodging the spells that criss-crossed across the Hall. They transformed into tall, pale men, forming a circle at the centre of the Hall, clearing away the bodies grappling at the centre.

Hermione's heart plummeted. More vampires. With wands, none the less. Vampires who had not yet succumbed to their bestial side.

This set the seal upon the ascent of evil. It was all over. They had lost.

She glanced at Moody, Scrimgeour and McGonagall duelling bravely at the opposite end of the hall, trying to clear a way to the Dark Lord. She pitied them. It had been a futile war from the start. She heard Lestrange's cackling laughter as she cursed one wizard after another that dared approach the stage. And she looked at the vampire circle that had formed at the centre of the Hall, standing tall and pale amidst the chaos, shielding themselves from the spells hurled at them.

She suddenly registered where the vampiric spells were hitting. They were attacking other vampires and Death Eaters. Not many had noticed this dissension within Voldemort's ranks yet.

_But were the vampires truly on Voldemort's side?_

She looked at the Dark Lord, standing at the centre of the stage. His red eyes alighted upon the circle of vampires near the centre of the Hall. The snake-like eyes widened in surprise.

The circle parted and dispersed, plunging into battle against the Death Eaters and their own brethren on the Dark Side. However, a single member of the renegade vampiric circle stood his ground at the centre. Not as tall as the other vampires, the figure was shrouded in a dark green cloak and a dark hood covered its head.

The hood fell.

_Harry Potter._

It was as if some supernatural hand had pressed the mute button on God's remote at the battlefield. The noise dimmed. There was pin-drop silence across the Hall.

_Harry Potter._

Hermione just stood there, her eyes widened in shock. Every single person and creature in the hall wore expressions akin to her own. Even the vampires were silent.

_Was it an Inferius?_

Magical waves of another kind washed over her. Warm and glorious waves. Harry ascended the stage. She felt the two contrasting waves of magic – one good and the other bad – clashing, creating magical aftershocks across the entire hall.

* * *

Harry attacked without warning, his hand moving in a lighting-quick manner as he sent of the arc of white light at Voldemort. Though caught off guard, Voldemort managed to shield himself in time.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I thought it was obvious, Tom. Don't tell me you don't recognise me, despite being old acquaintances for so long. You wound me deeply, Tom."

Harry smirked.

Voldemort's eyes widened in rage. The wizards clashed. Magic ricocheted off the walls of the castle in waves. Ever breath of air tingled with magic, as the two most powerful wizards in England clashed with one another.

_Battle was joined._

_Hope was returned to the right side._

The hall roared with the sound of the war again.

Voldemort waved his wand. Harry flinched, waiting for the spell to come, before he blocked it. But the spell never came. It washed over the entire hall, extinguishing the torches one by one, until the hall was immersed in moonlit darkness.

"Scared, Harry?" Voldemort's whisper came from the opposite end of the Hall.

There were screams and roars across the hall. Apart from the sudden jets of light criss-crossing across the halls from wands, it was completely dark. Total, widespread panic.

Harry disapparated as he sensed a spell blazing its way towards him. It missed him by a matter of seconds.

"Bow to death, Harry," Voldemort's voice echoed across the hall. His high-pitched laughter rose over the panicked sounds throughout the hall.

Harry waved his wand, sensing a break in the spell casting. The torches were light again, bathing the hall in golden light. Several people blew sighs of relief as the war resumed in full force.

He caught a flash of Voldemort's cloak moving towards the Astronomy tower.

Alastor Moody's and Rufus Scrimgeour's corpses lay on the ground. Voldemort had killed them in the darkness. McGonagall was nowhere to be seen.

So that was where Voldemort wanted the last battle. The Astronomy Tower._ How ironic_.

The Astronomy Tower was going to witness the death of another great wizard.

Harry ascended the steps to the tower, blasting vampires, Death Eaters and goblins out of the way. Ivan's brethren covered his rear.

He blasted the door to the terrace open and ducked as a jet of green light whooshed past him.

The breeze ruffled his dark hair. His eyes were blazing green now. They twinkled in the light of the moon.

Green eyes faced red. There was no retreat now, no chance of surrender.

It was the light or the dark. There was no middle path.

Voldemort attacked first sending ice shards at Harry. Harry waved his wand and the shards splintered. Voldemort sent a couple of Killing Curses at him, but he disapparated and avoided both. He apparated behind Voldemort, who promptly disapparated to the opposite end.

The battle was a blur, as the two wizards disapparated and cast spells simultaneously. It was a contest of magical power now, and skill. Green jets were flashing across the battlements of the tower, splintering stone and wood as they missed the two wizards.

Suddenly a blue spiral erupted from Harry's wand towards Voldemort. Voldemort blocked the spell with his silver shield, but the shield splintered. A killing curse was close on its heels. Voldemort disapparated out of the way just in time. Harry gritted his teeth in frustration.

He sent bursts of pure magical power across the room, but they all missed. Voldemort conjured a fiery snake, but Harry banished it into smoky wisps. Harry sent a Patronus straight at Voldemort, but Voldemort sent a Patronus of his own. Prongs clashed with the silver basilisk, and the two dissolved into silver smoke.

Harry knew he was losing this battle. He lacked what Voldemort possessed in abundance – _experience_. The longer the battle, the more the odds were stacked against him.

* * *

Ginny fought across the hall, making her way towards the Astronomy tower, where Harry had disappeared. She fired off the Bat-Bogey in several directions ascending the steps slowly. She caught a glimpse of bushy hair to her right. She chanced a glance in the general direction.

Ron, Hermione, Luna and Neville were blasting their way across the hall. She smiled. Dumbledore's Army was still alive and kicking. The foursome blasted a few vampires out of the way, and ascended the tower duelling at each step.

Ginny joined them. The five of them ascended the tower side by side, proudly, their heads held high. The approached the door.

Time seemed to freeze and Ginny saw jets of green light issuing from the door, ricocheting across the walls. A doorway to hell.

Suddenly a green jet of light caught Neville in the small of his back. His eyes widened in surprise, and he slammed onto the stairs, rolling down them.

"No!" Hermione cried.

Neville lay at the curve along the stair to the tower within their line of sight. His eyes were blank – wide open. He was dead.

Another green jet of light came ricocheting out of the doors. They ducked and it whooshed past them.

Bellatrix Lestrange emerged from the bottom, stepping over Neville's corpse disdainfully.

Ron glanced at the rest of his entourage. "Ginny, Hermione… go. Help Harry. Luna, stay with me. We'll take care of her. Go!" he whispered.

Ginny and Hermione stepped through the doors. They heard Bellatrix's cackling laughter behind them.

Ginny still had not come to terms with Neville's death. The grief would return later to plague her.

The sight that greeted them was astounding. Harry and Lord Voldemort were disappearing and reappearing all over the tower, casting spells and blocking them. This was no ordinary duel. This was a duel of the highest calibre. Their wands were a blur, as they teleported themselves so fast it was almost as if they had multiple clones all over the place. As one clone disappeared, the other appeared.

It was like watching the pixies – the electric-blue pixies – from Lockhart's class, whizzing all over the place.

Hermione and Ginny did not belong here. But just as they retreated back to the door, back towards Ron, a green jet of light ricocheted towards them.

_Déjà vu._

Harry blasted them out of the way.

_Cliché._

Voldemort caught Harry off guard.

Harry's wand was blasted out of his hand. The world turned blurry for the two girls – both misfits in this epic battle – and then, the world blacked out.

But before her world sank into oblivion, Hermione caught a blurred moment – a scene frozen in time, etched in her memory till she descended into her grave – Harry wandless and defenceless, leaning against the battlements and a red-eyed devil approaching him with a long wand in its spidery unnatural fingers.

_Déjà vu, all over again._

* * *

_A/N: Okay. I confess. I love cliffys._


	7. Veiled Exeunt

_A/N: I own nothing. Okay, now I'm really tired of saying this. The words in italics refer to past memories or thoughts._

* * *

**_Veiled Exeunt _**

Harry had known this would happen at some point. Voldemort was just too powerful and experienced for an amateur like him to bring down.

"Did you truly think you could vanquish me, Potter?" Voldemort asked, every syllable trembling with a perverse wild joy, "I am immortal, Potter. If there ever was a god, I am that god, Potter. Yet, I find myself curious. Tell me, Potter, for Lord Voldemort is seldom curious; how did you escape the Killing Curse at Diagon Alley? We have plenty of time for chit-chat."

Harry remained silent.

He had to bring down the impenetrable fortress that shrouded Voldemort's mind.

"_Crucio_."

_A hundred white-hot rods boring into his body. Pain. Ultimate torture._

Harry gritted his teeth.

"Impressive, Potter. I must admit, you truly have changed. At the very least, you do not scream like a lass these days." Voldemort's tone was mocking, sarcastic.

"Polyjuice Potion, Tom," Harry replied, keeping his voice level and flat, "Slughorn took my place."

He could see those cunning red-green eyes decipher his cryptic statements.

"You were fooled by Polyjuice Potion, Tom. Polyjuice Potion. A simplistic plan. Right under your nose," Harry spat, "Wait, you don't have a proper nose. You have slits for nostrils. Whoops, I forgot."

Harry flinched. He knew it would come. There had been only a moment's warning. The red eyes flashed with rage.

_Torture, all over again. The Cruciatus._

_"Pain is necessary," the Buddhist monk had said, "It destroys your sins – of the previous lives as well as the present life. All part of the Karmic Cycle."_

Harry reached out a stealthy tendril of Legilimency, shivering in pain, after the Cruciatus subsided.

"I say this for the last time, Potter," Voldemort muttered, his tone no longer sarcastic, "Bow to death, Harry."

"Is that the only punch line you've got?" Harry asked, "I mean I've heard it over a hundred times."

_Another Cruciatus. He was so accustomed to pain, he no longer registered it. It was but a dim sensation prickling at the edge of his mind. He was insane, anyway._

"Immortals cannot be vanquished, Potter. You must know that."

Harry smirked. "Immortal, are we, Voldemort?" he asked, every word replete with cynicism, "What… are we still depending on the Horcruxes?"

The red eyes were no longer narrowed in cruel, malicious joy. They were now wide with rage and shock.

He was desperate. _He had to shatter that impenetrable fortress._

He reached out a thread of Legilimency. He could feel the walls shattering, slowly, due to the immense rage contained within.

"You know nothing, Potter," Voldemort said, trying in vain to regain his composure, "You know nothing." He spat out the last line.

"Let me see…" Harry said, holding up both his hands and counting on them, "Six horcruxes, were they not? Pitiful, the length you would go to attain something as futile as immortality. Nagini, Your moronic diary, Hufflepuff's Cup, Slytherin's locket, Ravenclaw's tiara… and, ah… the school's Sorting Hat…"

The red snake-like eyes were now wide with shock.

_More walls were shattered._

"Do you take me for a fool, Potter? I checked on them," Voldemort shrieked, "They are safe!"

"And you sent, ah… Severus, on this secret mission, didn't you? Not exactly reliable is he? Seeing as he betrayed you in the battle."

Harry shrugged casually. And he laughed. "You see… _Lord_… Voldemort", he said, tears of laughter flowing out of his eyes; "You're as mortal as I am."

The red eyes blazed forth. Magic – dark, inhuman and vengeful – flowed over the Astronomy Tower, covering the stars and the moon, shrouding them in the darkest of cloaks.

Thunder crackled through the darkness.

_The fortress vanished._

Voldemort's wand blazed, as all the emotions of the owner, flowed through it, flooding its narrow channels, like water gushing forth through a cracked dam.

Harry's Legilimency thread extended into Voldemort's unguarded mind, all its emotions laid bare.

He pushed forth with all his strength.

"_Avada Kedavra_," Voldemort shrieked into the darkness.

There was a green flash.

Harry Potter vanished, just as the green jet was a hair's breadth away from his chest.

The stones cracked as the spell hit empty ground. The dust settled.

Voldemort was on the ground, writhing and shrieking, like a worm caught on the hook of a fishing line.

Blood gushed forth from the body of the former immortal.

_Shrieks of fear. Shrieks of rage. Shrieks of a demon._

He had possessed Voldemort.

_The duel was not longer external. It was a duel of two beings – whole and pure._

The two magical waves – one warm and filled with immense sorrow, and the other inhuman and filled with fear and rage – clashed and produced a magical interference that rippled across the entire castle.

The goblins collapsed. The vampires staggered. Even the wizards and witches felt it. The walls of the castle shook.

The red eyes turned green. _Harry's eyes._

_They looked at Ginny's prone form. Memories surfaced… memories of lost love, memories of the tiny, lovely moments they had shared._

_Love._

_They moved to Hermione's prone form. Other memories surfaced, like corpses rising to the top of a chaotic ocean. A different kind of love. He remembered all the concern, all the love, all the warmth and support that Hermione had given him. If not for Ginny, it would have been her._

_Love._

_He thought of Sirius. The only family he had ever known. The laughter-filled moments. Sirius… falling through the veil._

_Love._

_He thought of his parents. A mother who would give her life for him. A father who would die to defend him. He thought of their tragic death, a pain so vast and deep arose in his heart._

_Love at its most splendid, its most chaotic._

_Love. Love. Love._

_Love at its purest, its most tragic, its most devotional._

He felt as if his heart would burst at all the love that he contained within it. His chest expanded.

A dark wisp arose and enveloped Voldemort's body like the halo of a demon.

And it dispersed into the night sky.

The Dark Lord magical core imploded, like the core of a dying star, collapsing upon itself, unused to love.

Voldemort's eyes closed and he crumpled to the rough stone floor.

A moment later, Harry reappeared, leaning against the bastions, panting.

He heard the faint sounds of battle down below.

"Dobby," he called suddenly, "Dobby!" He was panting. The world could black out at any moment now.

The house elf appeared. Its great bulbous eyes travelled over the unconscious form of Voldemort and over to Harry's prone form. "Harry Potter did it!" he shouted, "Harry Potter did it!"

"Dobby…" Harry muttered, screwing up his face in immense pain, "He isn't dead. He's alive. His magical core has been extinguished. He cannot perform magic. Don't ask me how… I know… just keep him bound in chains and maintain a guard of house elves over him. Gather the rest of the house elves… and attack… attack…"

Harry had no choice. The world was going to black out. He disapparated.

He had to get back to the cave before he collapsed.

* * *

Minerva retreated. In the confusion she had lost contact with Moody and Scrimgeour.

They had retreated to the classrooms now. The Death Eaters had swarmed all over the castle. The dark goblins and vampires were continuing their job of aggravating the confusion amongst the Forces of Light.

Suddenly there were cracks all over the place. The cracks of Apparition.

Great balls of fire erupted from several places, rolling over the Death Eaters.

Minerva watched in astonishment, as the House Elves of the school advanced, attacking the Death Eaters ferociously.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is vanquished!" they chanted in one voice "Harry Potter defeated him!"

Minerva could not believe her ears. It was as if someone had given her a boost of energy. A second wind.

The Forces of the Light surged forward, heartened by the news. They surged over the Death Eaters and the Dark Legion.

It would all be over soon.

* * *

The Wizengamot had been convened. The warlocks had been assembled. They were gathered in full strength to witness the most legendary case that it had ever been summoned for.

Hermione watched from a balcony reserved specially for certain approved guests. She saw several familiar faces amongst the Wizengamot. McGonagall had been declared the Minister of Magic in a quick round of votes. She presided over the Meeting, her eyes boring into those of the accused. Arthur Weasley was also amongst the Wizengamot, having been promoted to the post of Undersecretary. Percy Weasley, Dolores Umbridge and Kingsley Shacklebolt were also amongst those seated on the high chairs.

The accused too, was present, shackled in chains on a hard wooden chair at the centre of the Ministry.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle._

A ring of hooded Aurors stood around Voldemort, their naked wands held aloft.

"You have shown no guilt, despite all the terrible deeds you committed in life, Tom. For this, you shall be sentenced to execution," McGonagall said.

"Those in favour of execution, please raise their hands," she said, her crisp voice booming across the stone chamber.

Every single hand in the Wizengamot was upraised.

"Those against conviction, please raise their hands," she said.

Not even a single hand was upraised. Hermione could see the cold fury at being terrorised for two decades etched in the faces of all those present.

The gavel resounded through the entire hall. _Execution, it was._

"Any last words, Tom?" McGonagall asked, her eyebrows raised.

Lord Voldemort's eyes passed over each and every member of the Court, before they settled on McGonagall.

"Yes," he hissed, "And they are more than just a few words."

"My death… a deed to be celebrated, indeed!" he said, his voice rising in pitch and fervour, "A tyrant dies today, is it not? Yet, I wonder what my death will achieve. Will it be able to eradicate the prejudice held against Muggleborn witches and wizards, I wonder? Will it be enough to free all the house elves from their poor treatment? Will it remove the centuries of prejudices held against part-humans?"

Hermione felt Lupin stir slightly.

Voldemort laughed the same high-pitched laughter that had plagued Harry's nightmares for so long. Harry Potter, the Hero-Who-Had-Vanished.

"I guess not. My death will not change a thing. There are many amongst those assembled in this… ah, _prestigious_… Wizengamot that supported my ideals in secret and financed my Death Eater camps. I merely brought out into the open what many wizards had cherished in their hearts for so long. To conserve pureblood heritage, and maintain pure blood supremacy. I was merely more… _vocal_… about it. Is that such a crime?"

There were murmurs throughout the chamber.

The snake-like eyes widened in amusement.

"There are many amongst us who had considered part-humans as inferior to ourselves. I sought to give them an equal status. Is that a crime, I wonder?"

Hermione discreetly saw Umbridge shudder in her seat. She smirked.

"There are those amongst us that sought to impose tougher restrictions on the goblin nations. I merely sought to empower them further, so that they stood on the same pedestal as us, wizards. Is that such a crime?

"I ask you, men and women of the Wizengamot, what crime have I committed? Will my death change the prejudices that have accumulated in our hearts for centuries, rankling and festering within our brains? No, it won't. Because Wizarding Society is stubborn. It will always have pureblood supremacists and it will never change. The world is not all white and black. It's rather in shades of grey. Sadly, Wizarding Society has always been on the darker side of grey. And it will always remain on the darker side."

The concluding note was defiant and firm. There was pin-drop silence throughout the chamber. Many warlocks shifted uncomfortably. Voldemort had struck home with that final speech.

Suddenly one of the Aurors in the ring surrounding Voldemort brought his hands together, clapping fiercely. Each clap resounded throughout the hall, echoing against the walls.

The Auror stepped in front of Voldemort and lifted his hood.

_Déjà vu_. Harry Potter, in all his fearsome glory.

The other Aurors were confused. Their wands dropped limply by their sides. There were gasps throughout the hall.

Harry clapped one last time. "Hear, hear," he said, his voice sarcastic and harsh, "Well said, indeed, Tom. At least we agree on the fact that your death will not change a thing. Neither will it change the prejudice against part-humans, nor against muggleborns. If you had not resorted to violence, and if your hidden agenda was not that of pure tyranny and autocracy, you might have found me a loyal supporter. Unfortunately, Tom, your true aim was to garner power for yourself… hoard it all up and enslave everyone around you."

Voldemort's eyes were no longer blazing. They were wide and fearful.

"What are you doing, Potter?" he hissed.

Harry turned. A sword gleamed in the semi-darkness by the light of the torches, and the ruby on the hilt of the sword glistened.

The sword flashed. It went straight through Voldemort's heart, shattering the wooden chair, and emerging through Voldemort's back.

"I'm doing the right thing, Tom," he hissed.

Harry vanished through the back door.

Lord Voldemort was dead.

And Harry Potter had vanished again - still the elusive hero.

* * *

The clouds settled over the misty plain. The sky was dreary, as if the heavens themselves were mourning the loss of the hundreds that had sacrificed their lives in the war. The grey rain-clouds seemed to be swollen, yet were reluctant to part with their massive celestial teardrops, so immense was the veil of sorrow draped over the plain. The grass blew softly in the cold breeze, rustling along with the hundreds of black cloaks worn at the funeral.

McGonagall – the Minister of Magic – had called for an honorary funeral to honour those who had sacrificed their lives in the war.

Hermione stared at the giant screen displaying the names of those who had died in the war.

_Neville Longbottom – Order of Merlin, Second Class._

She looked at Ron. He was leaning moodily against the post. It had been nearly a month after Voldemort's sudden murder in the Ministry. Harry had eluded Ministry capture. It was ironic, in a way. The Ministry was actually trying to seize its hero.

Severus Snape had been sentenced to seven months in Azkaban, despite his heroic duel at the last minute. "It is the belief of the Wizengamot that one last minute of heroism does not erase the sins of the past," McGonagall had said.

Her bushy hair blew in a tangled mass, clouding her vision. She brushed it away.

Ginny came and stood next to her. "That Kelgore guy gives me the creeps," she said.

Hermione turned. She saw Ivan Kelgore talking to Fred and George. Ivan was a Transylvanian who had been helping Fred and George rebuild their business empire – the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. It was a tad bit shady, she thought. In her opinion, Ivan was more like Mundungus Fletcher than Bill Gates, conducting shady deals through "slight persuasion" (as Ivan described it), and smuggling items (trading goods, Ivan called it).

Ginny was right. Ivan was a creepy man.

The Ministry hunt for the missing Death Eaters – the Death Eaters that had fled when it became clear that the war was not in their favour – had not been very successful. Rumours were rampant, claiming that Bellatrix had reinstated herself as the "Dark Queen", and assembled a band of extremely loyal Death Eaters.

Ivan turned and his grey eyes met Hermione's. He gazed into the distance behind her, and his eyes widened in shock.

The next moment, two strong hands had closed themselves around Hermione's neck, and there was a rushing, compressed sensation as Hermione found herself in the dying throes of disapparition.

Hermione could not believe this was happening. It was the worst nightmare ever. She had never expected this to happen after Voldemort's demise.

There was no escape from this cold clammy cell. Ginny and she were trapped, trapped by the ropes that were tied around their hands, trapped by the seven Death Eaters interrogating them.

"Come, come," a Death Eater droned, "We know that Harry Potter is a friend of yours. Tell me, where is he?"

The Death Eater caressed his wand. Ginny was shuddering beside her.

"We told you, we don't know!" Hermione screamed again and again hysterically.

One Cruciatus followed another.

One of the Death Eaters suddenly stepped forward. Hermione drew back.

"Perhaps we should engage them in a more… _pleasurable_… interrogation," he hissed.

One more Death Eater stepped forward. Ginny was shivering. Hermione was struggling to breathe. They had no energy to protest anymore. Her skin was raw after so many curses cast upon them.

The Death Eater turned her over and pressed her against the cold wall. She could hear the chuckling from the other Death Eaters. A hard rod-like object pressed against her soft backside.

It pressed right into her, like a rod boring through her. She tried to wriggle away, but that only seemed to make the rod harder than ever. She heard Ginny screaming softly.

_Make it stop, make it stop…_

"Enjoying this, my dear?" the Death Eater breathed into her ear. His tongue was moving all over her neck like a slimy worm.

She shuddered.

The door to the cell slammed open.

There were four consecutive green flashes followed by thuds of bodies hitting the ground. The Death Eaters holding her and Ginny against the wall turned, zipping their wands out.

Two more green flashes. Two more thuds.

Only the Death Eater that had held Hermione now remained. Hermione slumped to the ground, gasping. She dragged herself over the ground to hold a sobbing Ginny's hand, and looked up.

Ivan Kelgore was standing in the cell, holding the Death Eater against the wall with a single muscular hand. "Go," he muttered to Hermione and tossed her a locket, "It'll get you out of here."

Hermione grasped the locket, and half-carried Ginny out of the cell. They staggered out of the long corridor, which had contained their cell. The walls were almost brownish, coated with dirt accumulated over centuries. The torches cast an eerie yellow light over the corridor. Hermione and Ginny took out the locket. Suddenly a spell came whizzing from unexpected quarters. The locket broke into pieces. Hermione and Ginny sprinted, consuming every ounce of their energy, and plunging into a dark room.

_Had the Death Eaters spotted them? Or had that been just a stray spell?_

Ginny muttered to Hermione, "Lucky they didn't check our cloak pockets before interrogating us."

Ginny produced out a soft, silvery material from her pocket. _Harry's Invisibility Cloak._

"The portkey's gone," Hermione muttered as soon as she pulled the cloak over both of them. They were both panting heavily. "We have but one option left. Follow Kelgore."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy breathed deeply as he slumped to the ground. The red-haired stranger had finally loosened the hold on his neck. He staggered back a few paces and raised his wand.

_How had this man found them?_

"It was quite easy sniffing out this location," the stranger said, "I had planned to attack this location later. Fortunately you managed to make me shift my plan ahead a few days, by capturing the two girls I know best in this world."

"Who are you?" Lucius hissed stepping back a few paces and raising his wand.

Before he knew it, Lucius' wand was blasted out of his hand.

"Even for a pureblood," the stranger hissed, "You're pathetic."

The stranger waved his own wand. The red hair shortened to form a messy black, wavy hair. The face changed. The eyes turned green.

_Harry Potter._

Lucius staggered backwards. The green eyes were blazing. "What are you going to do, Potter? Kill me?" Lucius muttered defiantly.

"You attempted to rape two of my former friends, Lucius," Potter hissed, advancing upon Lucius, "Do you think I'll let you get away with mere death?"

Potter laughed hysterically. A green spiral erupted out of Potter's wand.

_The same green spiral that his Master had used to torture traitors._

It made contact with his stomach.

_Pain_.

_Exquisite, immense pain._

It was as if his organs were burning. His senses vanished. It was as if he was an empty shell, filled with a single sensation, shrouding his brain and heart, and stretching his nerves to the limit.

_Pain_.

His fingers were bent at an awkward angle as he screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed. But there was no respite.

He was going to die.

And before he died, he was going to suffer like he never had.

* * *

Hermione and Ginny traced their way back. There was no sign of the Death Eaters that had ambushed them.

They turned a dark corner and gasped. There was a trail of corpses all over the corridor, which led away from their cell. Had Ivan killed all of them?

Hermione shuddered, at the trail. They trudged amongst the Death Eaters as softly as they could.

There was no need to tread softly amongst the corpses, but they did so anyway. At the end of the corridor, where the torchlight ended in front of a great pair of wooden doors, they saw two men grappling.

Ginny gasped silently. Hermione suddenly realised who Ivan Kelgore had been. She had been fooled by a glamour charm.

It had been Harry all along.

Harry held Peter Pettigrew against the wall. "Run away, Peter," he snarled, "Run as fast as your stubby legs can carry you. Run away and never let me see your face again. Do you understand?"

Peter nodded fervently and Harry let him go. There was a crack, and a greyish white rat scampered across the floor.

They saw Harry turn to face the great doors. There were serpents carved all over it.

It must have been Voldemort's secret headquarters. The headquarters where the renegade Death Eaters had camped.

The wooden doors slammed open to reveal a chamber. Harry entered it. Hermione and Ginny followed him into the chamber without making a sound.

A woman stood near a serpentine throne, her back turned to Harry. Her hair was tangled all over her shapely body, encased in a soft robe.

"Have the prisoners told you anything of use, Lucius?" Bellatrix's cackling voice echoed over the Hall.

"I thought you should know," Harry snarled, "Lucius died of internal organ failure."

Bellatrix turned whipping her wand out in alarm. Hermione flinched.

There was a bang, and Bellatrix was kneeling on the cold stone floor of the torch-lit chamber, clutching her bleeding wrist. Her wand lay on the floor, broken cleanly into two pieces.

Harry advanced upon her.

"_Crucio_," he muttered savagely.

Bellatrix screamed.

Hermione saw the pain and rage in Harry's eyes. The woman writhing at his feet had taken a lot away from him. She could see the immense sorrow trapped within those emerald-green eyes.

How long, Harry held Bellatrix under the Cruciatus, Hermione did not know. All Hermione registered was Bellatrix's incessant screaming.

Harry finally lifted the curse. Bellatrix lay panting on the floor. She started laughing hysterically. The pain had muddled her brain.

A cruel smile twisted Harry's lips.

"_Imperio_," he hissed. Bellatrix's eyes blurred.

Harry whispered in her ear.

Bellatrix waved her hand over her throat and shouted, "All Death Eaters assemble at the base of the hillock outside the castle!"

Her voice resounded throughout the castle.

Harry lifted the Charm.

Bellatrix started laughing again.

"_Sectumsempra Epidermo_," Harry muttered, "Hope you like it."

Harry caressed Bellatrix's cheeks. "It's a pity something so beautiful had to go waste in such a tragic manner.

He stepped a few feet away from Bellatrix's kneeling form and looked at her amusedly.

Bellatrix started to scream. Her fingers clawed through the air, as if they were trying to shred her immense pain to nothingness.

Hermione's eyes flicked to Bellatrix's hands and she suddenly realised what was happening. From the faint gasp at her side, so had Ginny.

Her skin was peeling off.

Bellatrix's skin separated from her flesh, like a snake's coat when during the shedding season. Blood oozed from underneath. Her face started peeling off, revealing the flesh underneath.

Hermione could not take her eyes of the terrifying sight. _This was worse than the Cruciatus, far too worse._

She watched in horror as the skin peeled off revealing the ugly layers of flesh underneath. Bellatrix screamed and retched. She was now a pink, fleshy entity, no longer human – a ghastly sight.

Blood oozed out of her raw flesh, as she screamed like there was no end to her torture.

Harry raised his wand again. The same green spiral. The same suffering inflicted before death, as Bellatrix's soul shattered into pieces along with her magical core, constricting her organs one by one until her entire body imploded.

Hermione watched the scene unfold, helpless and horror-struck. This was not the Harry she had known.

The Harry she had known was dead, perhaps a long time ago.

Harry left the chamber through a side door. Hermione and Ginny traipsed across the room as if in a horrible trance.

They stepped out into a graveyard, with huge, hulking tombstones. A small hillock rose over the graveyard, towering over it. The stars shone like diamonds etched into the sky.

Hermione suddenly registered that it was past sunset. It was a dark evening.

Nearly a hundred Death Eaters were assembled at the base of the hillock, their cloaks rustling as they shifted or moved.

Harry suddenly disapparated. Two strong hands pulled them down behind a tombstone.

Hermione gazed at two gleaming fangs and cold grey eyes. _A vampire._

The vampire paused, and loosened his hold upon them. "You are not Death Eaters," he hissed, "Are you the two prisoners?"

Hermione nodded. The vampire must have sensed them through the Invisibility Cloak.

"Stay here. If you move, I'll rip your throat," the vampire rasped, and moved into the clearing.

Hermione raised her fearful eyes over the tombstone, and saw an astounding scene.

Nearly a hundred Death Eaters were standing at the base of the hillock gazing up at a shrouded figure at its summit. The Death Eaters were nearly fifty metres away from Hermione's tombstone.

She looked around. She saw the skulking forms of some kind of creature. And then, It struck her. _Vampires, the same vampires that had aided the Forces of the Light during the siege on Hogwarts._

It looked as if they were surrounding the Death Eaters around the hillock, like a disastrous, bloodsucking net.

The summit suddenly shone with light. A few of the Death Eaters staggered backwards.

The figure at the base of the hillock was illuminated in all its terrifying glory.

_Harry Potter._

The Death Eaters gasped. Some of them dislodged themselves from the compact circle around the hillock and tried to flee.

Two of them nearly approached Hermione's tombstone. The next second, they were lying on the ground, their throats ripped. _Vampires. The net to catch the Death Eaters._

"I will give you just one chance," Harry's magically amplified voice echoed over the graveyard, "Surrender to the Ministry and live! Do not obey me, and die!"

Some of the Death Eaters laughed. _They had not yet realised the presence of the vampires._

The Death Eaters swarmed over the hillock.

Hermione looked at the circle of vampires expecting them to attack. They retreated.

Hermione gasped. _Were the vampires betraying Harry?_

Suddenly Harry raised his wand. "_SOLARUS_!" he shrieked into the gathering darkness.

Harry's body appeared to be aflame. Hermione had read about the Solarus spell. It required an immense amount of magical power to fuel the spell. No wizard had been reported to use the spell in recent years; it could only be used by immensely powerful wizards. Hermione herself had used the minor version of the spell to kill Slughorn.

There had been rumours that Dumbledore had used the spell in the War against Grindelwald, but Dumbledore himself had never validated these rumours.

And now, the man she loved was using the same spell.

Harry's body seemed to erupt into a flaming ball. The Death Eaters were still swarming over the hill. There was a deafening boom, and then searing heat whipped across Hermione's face.

There was a flash of bluish white light, as a fireball erupted all over the hillock, streaming down towards the base.

And then, the night was restored to its pristine darkness. The light subsided. Harry advanced down the hillock, and approached a tombstone close to theirs.

The tall vampire that had seized Hermione and Ginny was seated on the tombstone casually, as if watching a mildly interesting movie.

The charred corpses of nearly a hundred Death Eaters littered the base of the hillock. Harry had murdered a hundred Death Eaters with a single curse. Hermione's mind was twitching with the horror and carnation she had witnessed.

_This was a horrible, horrible nightmare._

Harry shook hands with the vampire. "I owe you and your brethren a lot," he murmured, "Thanks."

Ivan nodded. And then, he raised his wand.

The vampires disappeared.

"It is time to pay my dear godfather a visit," Harry murmured to himself.

Fur sprouted all over Harry's body as he morphed into a giant monstrous animal, plastered against the night sky, darker than the star-speckled sky.

Its fangs gleamed as it opened its humongous mouth and roared. Sorrow, grief, rage and frustration – all the emotions were rolled into a single awesome roar, blasting over the dark graveyard.

The beast melted into shadow.

Harry's last statement suddenly registered in Hermione's brain.

"Oh no," she whispered as she turned to Ginny, her eyes flying open in alarm, "We have to go to the Ministry."

* * *

Harry stood before the veil in the Department of Mysteries. The face of every single Death Eater he had killed flashed before his eyes. He was a weapon… _a mere weapon_… at most. He was nothing more. He was an empty shell, doomed to die from the beginning.

A yawning, gaping hole of self-pity surged within his chest, but he ignored it.

Tears splattered from his eyes, their twinkling dimmed now.

_Sirius… Mom… Dad…_

It was all over. He had no place in this world.

He fingered the cold, blue stone in his hand. The transporter.

He could feel its exquisite magical power, thrumming around his fingertips and caressing him.

Death, after all, was not so hard to come by.

* * *

_The corporeal boggart waved its wand. Wisps of smoke suddenly emerged from the wand, threading their way towards Iris. She erected a shield but the wisps passed straight through. The moment they made contact with her body, they solidified into icy shards, embedded within her wondrous body._

_Iris screamed, and collapsed, breathing heavily. Blood oozed out of her wounds. The icy stakes remained embedded in her body._

_The boggart-Harry smiled, its lips curving in a cruel smile._

_"No!" Harry screamed._

_"Look at me, Harry. Look at me and despair. I'm more powerful than you can ever dream of being. I'm more powerful than you ever were," the boggart rasped in a hideously inhuman voice._

_"Impossible", stammered Harry staggering away from the dreadful apparition._

_"Not impossible. How, Harry, I wonder did you conjure a Patronus that could scare away a hundred dementors? Did you believe you were born with such immense power?" the boggart sneered._

_Harry staggered until he was leaning against the wall._

_The boggart smiled. "You see Harry, when Voldemort's Avada backfired, it actually transferred a part of him into you. That part has been eating away at you – the reason why your emotions have devolved. The reason why you began to talk Parseltongue so late in life. The reason why you summoned such a powerful Patronus in your third year._

_"I merely let that part of Voldemort corpus magi take over. And now, I'm more powerful than ever. Give in to the Darkness, Harry."_

_Harry's eyes travelled to Iris' bloody body and his heart pulsed with rage. The blood pumped through his veins. Nothing mattered to him. He screamed in inhuman rage and frustration. His left hand grasped something cold and hard. With his right he cast a stunner, and he threw the object in his left hand simultaneously._

_The boggart blocked the first spell, but the object Harry ad hurled penetrated straight through the shield, piercing his chest. The boggart screamed and dissolved into mist. All that remained on the ground was the object Harry had hurled at the boggart._

_Harry's eyes widened with surprise. It was Gryffindor's sword._

_He grasped the sword and knelt down beside Iris._

_"You… are Gryffindor's heir, Harry… the sword will come when you need it most," Iris stammered, coughing out blood._

_Tears splattered to the rough stone floor from Harry's eyes._

_"Never give in to the darkness, Harry. Do not let… the dark… within you… t-t-… take over…"_

_More tears. A gaping pain in his chest. Immense sorrow._

_"Promise me Harry… promise me, that you will never ever… ever… kill yourself."_

_"I promise," Harry whispered in a hushed tone, his brain momentarily jammed at the puzzling statement. Why would he ever kill himself?_

_Iris smiled. Her wand glowed blue. Harry started. He had just sworn a magical oath, after the Egyptian fashion._

_He could not now, kill himself._

_But why would he ever do that?_

* * *

It was as if Iris had predicted the future. _Could a dying woman do that?_

Several times on the dark path he had taken, he had turned his wand upon himself, sliced his wrists and jumped off cliffs, but to no avail. He could not die if he killed himself.

He had gone beyond the path Dumbledore had dictated for him. He had gone beyond those prescribed tutors. After Snape, Harry had trained with some of the dodgiest creatures in the magical world. He had taken the darkest of paths.

And now, he was turning into another Dark Lord.

The veil fluttered gently, its voices hypnotising him and inviting him, to reach into its depths. The voices thrummed in his ears. He stepped atop the dais, climbing the steps one-by-one.

His heart pounded. This was not killing himself. The veil was almost like a living entity, pulsing with a rhythm of its own – a dark rhythm… _the rhythmic footfalls of death_.

He took a deep breath and plunged on recklessly.

Oblivion followed.

* * *

Arthur Weasley felt the magical earthquake that resounded across the Ministry. He could tell it came from the Department of Mysteries. The desks and tables shook and vibrated as wave upon wave of magic crashed down upon them.

He straightened his hat and staggered down the steps leading down to the Department of Ministries. He almost dashed into Kingsley. "What just happened?" he asked the tall black Auror.

"I don't know. It's as if a powerful magical object or being just entered the Veil of Death," the Auror muttered.

The entered the chamber.

And they gasped. Every inch of the chamber – from the marble tiles on the floor to its torch-lit walls, was cracked, as if it had been pounded by a devastating burst of magic.

Perhaps it had.

They advanced up to the dais that supported the veil. It fluttered innocently in a non-existent breeze.

All that remained on the dais was a thirteen-and-a-half-inch long wand.

And somewhere in the astral beyond, trapped between interloping worlds, Arthur Weasley knew that the veil had swallowed a magical being. He only hoped the wizard who had stepped through it was finally at peace.

* * *

_A/N: And so, the journey ends. I leave the rest to the reader's imagination._

_Perhaps, Hermione and Ginny arrived just in time to prevent Harry from entering the Veil. Perhaps Harry stepped through the Veil, finding peace at last, in Death._

_After all, did Harry have a thirteen-and-half-inch wand?_


End file.
